Taken
by Crimson Coin
Summary: When Arwen is kidnapped, Aragorn seeks to rescue her. But in his pursuit, the lives of those around him are dangerously threatened. Aragorn&Arwen Eowyn&Faramir Eomer&Lothiriel Please R
1. Relief

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin 

Summery: Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

Note: I have only currently begun learning Elvish. If my Elvish is incorrect, I will correct it as I learn more of the language. www.uib.no/people/hnohf/ has been most helpful.

Another Note: Movie-verse

* * *

Aragorn closed his eyes, his head tilting back as he breathed in the sweet summer's air. He stood on the balcony to his bedroom, the curtains drawn open. With a long sigh, he let his eyes flutter open and he gazed out across his private garden. The full moon illuminated the night sky, the stars and swirling clouds adding a certain ethereal quality. He inhaled again, his lungs filling with scent of flowers, grass and the beginnings of dew. 

A warm breeze caressed his creased and weary brow, his stringed dark hair fluttering about his broad and bare shoulders. He scratched his pecs a moment then stretched, his back arching as a slight tired moan slipped from his lips. He licked his lips moist before staring down his body.

Taking but a moment, he adjusted the comfortable cotton breeches he wore to bed and then wiggled his toes, enjoying the feel of the stone floor against the bottoms of his calloused feet. It felt good to stand without his shoes. It reminded him of his times in Rivendell.

Another defeated sigh fell from his lips as he turned his gaze from the blossomed garden and into his house. The breeze now at his back, he watched as that same breeze brushed through the curtains and caressed the beautiful figure of his still sleeping wife.

A small smile pulled at his lips, his eyes glistening sadly at her slumber. He had slept little in the last many months since his coronation. He had not wanted to be king and to this day, the notion of ruler did not sit well with him. He had no qualifications to be king. He was but a ranger from the North, one who happened to be born into a bloodline of kings. But that in no way deemed him worthy of king. He was not raised as a king. He was not trained to be a king.

There was still so much he did not understand about ruling and kingly things. Often during council meetings, Aragorn found himself daydreaming of his times as a ranger. He would dream of his adventures and travels, the feel of the wind in his hair, the warmth of a horse's body beneath his as he raced through the trees in search of something and yet he never knew what. Though he always returned to the land he knew as home.

Again, his thoughts were drawn back to the sleeping elf-maiden before him. He would always return to her. The yearning to be at her side called to him, beckoned him at every moment. Not a day would pass where she didn't plague his mind. And at night when he would lay under the stars, he would find solace. He knew she was watching that same sky, thinking of him, dreaming of him. Just as he was her.

Aragorn chuckled to himself. For tens of years he dreamed of sleeping by her side. And now that the opportunity was always upon him, he could never sleep. They had only just been wed maybe three moons ago. He could remember that day by the second; he could close his eyes and relive every moment. Of the day and the night that followed.

The ultimate blissful pleasure that consumed him that fateful night, that sweet memorable night of love-filled passion, he never imagined it would be so wonderful. He never knew such sensations existed inside his body, in his mind. He never knew she could be so unabandoned, so lust-filled, so passionate

Arwen, his Evenstar, his beloved. She had always been so calm, so sedate. Even in their jesting, in their moments alone she never displayed uncontrolled emotion. He knew she was reserved; her Elven heritage raised her so. But that beautiful unforgettable night when they finally exchanged wedding vows, when they finally consummated their unconditional love for one another, he had seen a side of his beloved that he never knew existed.

But that was the only time he witnessed her to be so alive, so ... so mortal. Every moment since, she has maintained that certain Elven air that he adored. Yet sometimes he wished that passionate woman would return to him, would show the same lust for him that he still possessed for her.

Aragorn felt a sudden aching in his chest, his heart clenching and his stomach twisted. Maybe he looked for too much, expected too much from her. Maybe she regretted her decision. Maybe she wished to be with her father and travel across the sea. He knew how loud and how powerful the call of the sea was to elves.

Blinking furiously, he held tears back as that sudden realization pierced his very being. The burning stab of such a sorrowful thought penetrated his already broken heart. He had never deserved her in the first place. She was so good, so perfect, and she did not deserve to be bound to this mortal fate.

"_Sérë, Meldanya_." Arwen breathed, her eyes still closed.

(Peace, My Beloved.)

Aragorn's breath caught high in his throat, her voice caressing him in ways he never dreamed.

"_Tula caimana._"

(Come to bed.)

He sighed, glancing away from her for a moment and out at the window. He had heard her, though her voice was husked and laced with sleep. A smile pulled at his lips as her voice still lingered in his ears, in his mind. So deep and so calm, so gruff and so soothing. All she had to do was speak, and he was in love all over again.

"Á_ seri indolye._"

(Rest/still your heart/mind)

Aragorn still refused to look at her, his heart sang for the mountains in the distance, his desire to just run back to the life he so loved, he so yearned for pulled at his every string. He could feel her eyes on his back, those deep sea blue eyes pouring through his body, staring into his heart, into his soul.

His senses roused when he heard the sheets rustle and the soft padding of her feet cued him to her walking. She was approaching him. She was so soft on her feet, so light that he could barely hear her. But his ranger training still dwelt strong and he easily sensed her approach.

He shivered when a soft palm rested on his shoulder, her touch electrifying but her hand chilled.

"_Estelnya._"

(My Estel. Or My Hope. Take as you will.)

"_Inyë tye-méla._" He breathed, his heart and eyes fluttering.

(I love you.)

Arwen smiled gently, tilting her head slightly to try and meet his grey eyes. "I love you too." She reached out, cupping his opposite cheek in her hand and slowly she turned his eyes to meet hers. "Always, Estel."

"How did you know something was on my mind?"

Her smile somehow softened and she blinked slowly at him. "Because I know you so well, _Aranya_."

(My king.)

Aragorn returned her smile. "And I, you, _Tárinya._"

(My Queen.)

She reached up, stroking a gentle hand through his hair.

He sighed at the tender display of affection and leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. Desperate for more of her touch, he turned to face her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. He just couldn't let her go. Not yet.

"What troubles you, _Melmë_," She breathed onto his lips.

(Love)

"My mind races and that is all," he answered calmly, nuzzling against her. He needed to feel her, to take in all the comfort she would give.

"Keep nothing from me, Estel," Arwen said softly, her eyes meeting his despite how close they were. "Why does your mind race?"

"I miss the wild," he admitted after a brief hesitation. "I miss the wind in my hair and the grass under my feet. I miss the run and the ride and the fight. I miss the air and the earth and the rivers and the trees." He sighed, staring at his kingdom and then into the room that was now his bedroom.

"Ah, the ranger is not gone from you yet, my Lord," she responded. "There are none here who stop you from returning to what you love."

He placed a warm palm against her cheek. "Arwen, I have always returned to what I love."

She smiled gently, her lips only slightly tweaking with the expression. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, her skin a radiant glow; she was indeed still Elven. "You first love was always the wild, Elessar. You and I both know that. It has always called you and always will." She turned her head from him a moment, gazing out towards the horizon. "Just as the sea will always call to me."

Aragorn frowned, relieved that she did not see the sorrow now on his face.

"But no, Estel," she spoke again, looking back to him to meet his eyes. She placed a hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb across his lips. "I do not regret my choice. Do you not remember my vow to you?"

"I am undeserving of such a vow," he responded with a slow shake of the head and with a defeated sigh, he turned from her and walked back into the bedroom.

"Aragorn," she called to him, turning only slightly to see him.

He withheld a wince at the sound of that name. She rarely called him Aragorn and to this day, he hated the way it sounded rolling off her tongue.

"Estel, why do you say such things?"

"Because they are true," he spat at her with venom, his eyes focused on her beautiful form and blazing with anger yet still sadness. "I do not deserve your love or devotion. I never did. I was weak, I doubted us and I doubted you."

"_Meldanya_."

"No," he shook his head at her endearment. "I do not deserve to be called such things. I have betrayed you, Arwen."

She merely cocked her head, eyeing him curiously and with an emotion far from anger.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he yelled, his voice booming through the lands. Everyone in the palace had to have heard.

Arwen's smile warmed as she stepped closer to him. "_Inyë tye-méla, Meldanya."_

"How could you love me?" he asked, his voice now more hurt than angry and he reached up to grab the pendant that hung from his neck. "I doubted your faithfulness, I doubted myself. I almost returned this to you because I was too foolish to see ..."

"Shhh," she hushed, placing her fingers over his lips to silence him. "_Áva_."

(Don't.)

"But ..."

"_Áva_." She repeated a bit stronger. "Don't speak like that, my love."

"_Caurë__ haryar nin._"

(Fear possessed me.)

"I know," she answered, stepping even closer to him, willing their bodies to touch. "I know, Estel."

Aragorn shivered, his eyes fluttering for a moment. She was pressed so close, her soft body pushed to his, her silken nightgown leaving very little between his bare skin and hers.

She seemed to know exactly what she was doing and said nothing.

A smile pulled at his face, his lips tweaking with his chuckle. "You seem to be trying to distract me, my dear."

"Do I?" she replied in complete innocence.

Aragorn opened his eyes to gaze upon her and the smile remained on his face at the pleasing smile on her face. "My Evenstar," he said tentatively touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"Your doubts of the past matter not," she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her breath danced across his face, so warm and moist, so sweet.

"How can you say that?" he asked, his eyes focused intensely on hers. "I turned away your love. I tried to give you back the precious gift you gave to me. I lost all faith in myself, in you and us. I am weak, my Love."

"Nay, you are not." She responded with a slow shake of the head. "The man who led all of Middle Earth against the forces of Sauron is not weak. You united a kingdom, you defeated the greatest evil of all time."

"But when I was gone, you always remained so loyal to me."

"Are you saying you did not maintain the same loyalty?" Arwen's eyes blazed with overwhelming tenderness. "I would not hold it against you, my Lord, if you engaged in pleasures of the flesh or if you felt more than affection towards another."

"Never, my Lady," he breathed. "Never did I stray from you. I could not. Every night I was away, I was haunted by your touch, your sweet lips ... I could not even think of another after knowing their taste."

She smiled, her eyes beaming with love and affection, so bright and beautiful as they glistened with unshed tears. "Your words move me so, _Vennonya_."

( My Husband)

"They are true," he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. "My Dear Wife."

"Estel, be at peace," she whispered. "Come back to bed." She slowly traced her hands down his bare chest then arms before entwining their fingers.

Aragorn followed her and stood at the bedside as she crawled onto the soft mattress. He watched her settle into the comfort, the silken sheets appearing made just for her. She was exquisite.

Arwen reached out for him then. "_Tula, Estel._"

(Come, Estel.)

"_Elyë nar anvanya._" Aragorn sighed, his eyes soaking in the silken perfect form of his wife.

(You are most beautiful.)

She sighed with the most striking smile on her face. "You words make me blush, Estel."

He smiled, noting the slight pink tinge that rose to her cheeks and he sat down on the bed's edge, reaching out to run a hand down her smooth arm then up again. "I cannot believe that you are really here. I keep expecting to wake up ... lying on a tree stump and I'm camping outside this white city. I expect this to be a dream ... and you are here as you always were ... in my mind, comforting me in my times of need."

"I never abandon you, My Love." She tugged on his arm again. "Come."

Aragorn sighed, raking the hair from his eyes as he finally obeyed his wife and he crawled towards her. With a content sigh, he settled into her soft body, pillowing his head on her shoulder, his face turned into her throat so his lips could brush the sensitive silken skin. He hummed in a desired response when her arms wrapped around him, cradling him, protecting him.

Arwen brushed her lips along the shell of his ear, a continuous series of mumbled Elvish endearments slipping from her tongue.

He moaned, his entire body shuddering at the sensations her mere voice sparked within him. That familiar tingling coursed down his spine, sending shivers from his head to his toes. He had to bite back another groan as she began to kiss his ear, mingling hot wet kisses with her words.

"You are calming already, My Love," she breathed, her hand caressing his back before tickling up to his hair. She smiled, adoring the way he sighed with pleasure, sinking even further into her. She knew he was relaxing. "That's it, my Love. Find peace in me."

Aragorn laughed, his chest rumbling against her with the sudden outburst. "That is not all I find _in_ you ... My Dear Wife." He smiled as she nuzzled into him, her face pressing against his ear and from the heat radiating from her cheeks, he knew she must be flushing.

"Such a filthy mind, Estel," she chided playfully though didn't push him away. "The activity of which you speak does not bring peace."

"On the contrary," he said, his voice dropping in tone and growing slightly husked. "It brings me great peace ... afterwards."

Arwen laughed, her soft and deep laughter not uncommon to his ears, but rare none-the-less. She was always so controlled and reserved, it wasn't often when she outright laughed. And yet, he prided himself in being the only one who could bring such a laughter from her delicate Elven lips.

"I do love your laugh," he said quietly, nuzzling against her throat before sealing his lips in a soft kiss. "I love many things about you."

"Mmm, is that so, Estel?" her voice soothed and caressed him, her hand in a slow circular massage of his shoulders and back. "Only many? I expect you to love everything about me."

"And I do, _Melda_," he cooed, brushing his nose against her throat then down to her collar bone. "I am not the only one. Do you know how the court and my council feel?"

Arwen sighed, tilting her head on the soft silken pillow. "I still do not believe your court approves of your wedding to an elf. I believe they wished you marry a mortal."

Aragorn pushed up from her then, balancing on his arm so he could gaze into her face. His smile remained warm and inviting as he reached over to brush his fingers across the porcelain skin of her cheek. "I have married a mortal." His heart swelled at her small smile. "And my council is jealous beyond words. As is much of the kingdom. You are truly a great beauty to behold."

Her smile brightened and she leaned up ever so slightly, her eyes falling half-lidded as she brushed her lips over his. "Thank you, _Melmë_."

"I know that you are trying to be accepted by the peoples of this kingdom," he said slowly, his voice a gentle whisper. "But I wish you would not abandon who you used to be."

"I do not understand."

"Just because it seems that men are more modest about displaying affection and that my council frowned upon it that first day ... does not mean that I wished it to stop."

"Estel ..."

He silenced her with a soft kiss, his lips only brushing over hers and he nearly died as she shuddered beneath him. "Remember the first week we were wed. And you came into my council chambers ... and all the advisors and men sat in that room as we were discussing a new trade route through the east. And you came into that room only to cup my cheek and kiss me."

Arwen flushed a light pink, her eyes averting to stare at a darkened corner of the room.

"Ah, you do remember it, my Darling Wife."

"Of course, I remember it, Estel," she answered in a low and slightly embarrassed voice. "I have been nothing but reprimanded since that day."

"I have never reprimanded you," Aragorn breathed. "In fact, I do believe that I kissed you back with equal, if not more passion."

She managed a small smile and even a shy chuckle. "I also do believe that was the day I concurred that I had never felt anything as rough as your beard."

"You do not like it, my Love?"

She tickled a single finger down the side of his cheek and along his jaw, her eyes following the trail intently. "I did not say that, My Lord."

"Then tell me, Dear Wife, exactly what you are saying. If you wish me to shave it off, I will ... but only for you. Though I must admit, Faramir will not let me hear the end of this. They will call my but a boy on the thrown should I not have a beard."

"And I would not put you through such torturous processes." She responded with a sweet smile. "But I simply mean to say that although I cannot always feel your lips, I embrace the sensation of so rough a contrast."

He cocked a single brow, unsure of what she was speaking.

Arwen's eyes fluttered for a moment before she swirled a single finger on his chin, adoring the flickering lust that sparked in his eyes. "For when I kiss you, _Estelnya_, I know I am not kissing an elf ... but a man."

Aragorn laughed, his eyes closing for the moment as her words sent joyous sensations through his body.

"I am pleased to see you smile, My Love," Arwen said softly to him, her fingers still caressing his tired face. "And I am glad I have rid your mind of your earlier grievances."

"Not rid, My Love," he sighed, his eyes sad but still bursting with tenderness and affection. "Merely distracted."

"I wish there was something I could do."

"There is," He answered in a deep voice. "It will not quench my thirst for the wild ... but ... it will satisfy my hunger for something else."

Arwen eyed him curiously, her gaze filled with confusion. "What do you mean your hunger for ..." her eyes flashed then with immediate realization and she swatted playfully at him. "Estel!"

Aragorn chuckled, his eyes twinkling for her and in the pale moonlight of the darkened bedroom, he was close enough to see the stars in her deep blue orbs. "I see it in your eyes, Undomiel, you yearn for me too."

"I yearn for many things," She said with a hitch in her voice, a restraint to hold her desire in check. "But tonight is not the night." At his hurt and rejected expression, she placed a warm palm against his cheek. "I do want you, my Love, but it is very late. The sun will soon rise and you are overtired. There will be a long council tomorrow with the new negotiations for the North and you must be rested. Please, Elessar, sleep."

He leaned down then, his eyes closed as his mouth claimed hers, his hunger and desire more than obvious in his kiss. His lips massaged hers, his head moving and coaxing her lips to part and when they did, he sighed, sliding his tongue into her mouth.

She pushed him back, her hands to either side of his head. A wide smile spread across her face and she chuckled at the desperate look he flashed her. "_Melda, _though how wonderful that is, it most certainly is not sleeping."

"But it is much more fulfilling then sleep," he breathed then closed the distance between them again. He let out a groan of frustration when her fingers pressed to his lips, stopping him. "Arwen, My Love, would you deny your husband from his needs?"

"Yes."

He moaned again, rolling his eyes. "And how many times have I seen to your needs without question? Yet my Queen still denies me."

"And is that all the Queen is to you, my Dear Estel?"

His eyes flew to hers at the seemingly hurt tone and he quickly softened his gaze and his touch. "No, Melm_ë_, no. Not at all. I am sorry that I have offended you. You, my Darling Wife, My Beautiful Queen, My soul ... my heart ... my ... Oh, Undomiel, don't cry." He brushed his thumb along her cheeks, wiping away the tears that dripped from her eyes. "Please, don't cry, My Love."

Arwen licked her lips, willing her emotions to control.

"Shh," he hushed, caressing her cheek then brow. "My Darling, please, do not cry. I never meant to hurt you in any way. What I do ... we do ... physically when we ... when we engage in ..." he stumbled over his words. He sighed then, looking to the ceiling a moment to gather his thoughts.

Then just as quickly as he looked away, his eyes returned to her. "You are everything to me, Arwen. You are my love and my wife and my queen. I yearn for you, My Evenstar, but it is because I love you ... that I desire you."

Though his words were awkward, she knew what he meant, what he was trying to say. Swallowing hard, she nodded and pulled his head down, forcing him to rest his weary body against her.

His head pillowed on her shoulder, he wrapped his arms tightly around his slender wife's body. "I will sleep here in your arms, where I find peace ... and rest ... where I am home."

As she felt his breathing slow, Arwen blinked the final few tears from her eyes. She knew of her husband's love and truly felt foolish to doubt his motivations for physical pleasure. However her mind was plagued with worry for the man she loved. She knew that no matter what peace he found at this moment, she was no competition for his duties as king or his desire for freedom.

Maybe ... she could change that. Maybe she could find a way to offer him the freedom for which he so desired. A small smile pulled at her lips as she sighed, relaxing into the bed and in turn, her husband's embrace.

(I love reviews. I do plan for this to be a long story, but I want to know what everyone thinks. Good ... Bad ... Ugly ... I accept all reviews with happiness.)


	2. Escape

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin 

Summery: Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

Four Days Later

Faramir rolled his eyes back into his head, rubbing a hand over his weary face. He had only been in this meeting for ... well he wasn't really sure how long. But it felt like days. His eyes wandered to his king, noting how Aragorn's head tilted forward ever so slightly, rocking. Was the king falling asleep?

"Is that right, Your Majesty?"

Aragorn jostled, his eyes on his council and he licked his lips, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He didn't answer though, at least not what anyone was expecting. "I ... I must apologize, what ... what was that?"

Faramir ducked his head, trying his best to hold in his chuckle at the King's obvious confusion and boredom. His eyes flew to the door at a loud slam, and he stood with the rest of the council as the Queen walked inside.

He didn't understand her at first; she spoke Elvish to the King and he, of course, answered his wife in the same tongue. He could hear some of the council members around him grumbling, speaking of how rude it was to use a foreign tongue in their presence. But Faramir did not care. Obvious this conversation was for something between the royal couple and for no one's ears but their own.

Faramir's smile broadened as Arwen approached the King, stepping up to his thrown and leaning down, her palm splayed on his cheek. He couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips as the Queen leaned down and placed a long lingering and sensual kiss on the King's mouth.

Some of the council mumbled about inappropriate behavior, other's nearly applauded the obvious love between the royal couple. Faramir almost outright laughed when the Queen pulled back, eyeing her husband with a heated gaze. And especially when Aragorn nearly groaned right then and there. Faramir would be surprised if the King could control himself long enough for them to retire to a more private room.

The King rose then, swallowing hard before he grabbed his wife's hand. "The Queen and I have decided to take the day for a long ride. If the council wishes to continue, Faramir is more than capable of ..." as the King's eyes met his friend's, he instantly sympathized. "On second thought, we have been working hard for so many days. Go home, rest, relax. We shall continue this tomorrow after midday, when I shall return."

"But, Your Majesty, this is a pressing issue that must be resolved." One noble argued.

"As is the relationship I have with my wife." Aragorn responded with a stern voice. "I shall not sacrifice our relationship for these lands, nor these lands for our relationship. We are not to be disturbed, is that understood?"

Most of the nobles nodded, pleased they could return home for the afternoon. Others continued to grumble and the king felt a wave of anger course through him.

Faramir quickly stood, easily noting the rising dangers of such a situation. He bowed politely to the Queen, his eyes focused on her. "I am afraid that I cannot blame the King for his decision. If I was graced with an opportunity to spend the afternoon with the Queen, I fear I would also choose that over such conferences."

The Queen smiled, a faint blush rising to her porcelain cheeks. "You flatter me so, Dear Friend." A sly flicker flamed in her eyes as she squeezed her husband's hand. "But I wonder what your new wife would think of such a comment."

"She would graciously agree," Faramir said with a winning smile. "In fact, she has often chosen your company at the loom, knitting, or in the garden over a supper with me."

Aragorn nodded with a serious expression on his face. "I believe that I agree with your wife, Faramir. I would much prefer learning to knit from my wife than eat supper with you."

Gasping in shock, Faramir placed a dramatic hand on his chest. "I am deeply offended, my King. Though in all honesty, I myself would choose the Queen's company over my own."

Arwen ducked her head, her blush growing deeper at such words.

Aragorn only smiled, wrapping a protective arm around his wife's shoulders and pulling her against him. "You are blushing, My Dear." Knowing his words were obvious, he offered a nod to his council before leading Arwen from the room and into the grand corridor.

Once alone, the king stopped and turned to his wife, leaning down to look in her eyes. "You really are embarrassed, are you not?"

"Of course, my Lord," Arwen said softly. "But I do not find this to be bad."

Aragorn smiled, his brow creased with the sudden joy on his face. "What is it that you have planned, _Melda_?"

"It is a surprise." She answered in a mere whisper. "I shall meet you at the stables as soon as you are changed. We are riding, My Love, so dress appropriately."

Licking his lips, he leaned closer to her, his eyes locked on her gorgeous orbs. "Then I shall see you shortly."

* * *

Aragorn approached the stables with a certain glee to his step, one that he hadn't known in a long while. It felt good to be in his riding clothes again. He opted for a pair of tan leather breeches, his black leather tunic hung regally from his shoulders, the white tree of Gondor encrusted on his breast. Adjusting his boots then making sure his cape was tied, he opened the stable door.

His breath caught high in his throat, his eyes widening in pleasure. Unsure if he truly saw correctly, he raked the hair from his eyes. He was pleased he decided not to wear his crown or any symbol of his station. His hair felt so much more natural this way. And hers looked natural as well.

Arwen stood across the stable, grooming her horse, a beautiful white speckled stallion. She hummed a familiar Elvish melody, her voice a little deep and gorgeously soothing. He wasn't surprised when she didn't place a saddle on her horse; she usually rode bareback, the way she was taught.

Her outfit was deliciously familiar, however despite the beauty he saw, it also brought pain. The last time he saw her wear that, it was about a year ago when she had searched for him on his road to Rivendell. When a certain hobbit had been mortally injured. When she had ridden off with him with nine ring wraiths following her every step.

His heart still stopped when he thought of it, especially when she recalled the event to him the evening he arrived.

"_Melmë, _what is it?"

Aragorn broke from his trance, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and he forced a smile. His eyes scanned her body, every detail of her embedded in his memory. "It's nothing." He said, quickly, turning his eyes away and to his dark chestnut brown stallion.

Arwen cocked her head, eyeing him curiously. "You recognize what I wear?"

"I do, My Lady," he responded, brushing the dust from his horse's back. "I see you are riding bareback. It may be difficult for me with that pack. If I use the saddle and the saddle bags, it may be easier."

"You change direction of this conversation." She stepped next to him, her hand reaching out to rest on his forearm, stilling his actions. "Estel."

He sighed, glancing at her from half lidded eyes. "I was just reminded of the danger you were in. And all because of me. Because I didn't do my duty. Because I didn't protect Frodo. You could have been killed. And I can't even think of ..."

"Hush, my Lord," she interrupted him, her eyes ever so soft and delicate. "It is not important. Do not think back on such terrible times. Think of now."

Aragorn looked to the ceiling for a moment before meeting her eyes again. Cupping her cheek with his warm palm, he brushed his thumb along her lips before leaning down, kissing her softly.

Arwen sighed, leaning into him, her eyes closing as their lips entwined again and then one last time. "Your kiss is beautiful, My Lord," she said into his mouth, her hand pressed to his collar bone to keep him back. "But I fear that if you kiss me one more time, I shall not be able to contain myself. And it is not proper for the King and Queen to engage in such indecencies in the stables."

"Proper or no matters not to me," he groaned, leaning further into her. "You have denied me for nearly seven days. Do you still tease me?"

"Yes."

He whimpered in frustration when she walked away from him, striding back to her stallion before gracefully lifting herself onto his back. The stallion whinnied, stomping the ground a few times before accepting his rider. Aragorn gazed pitifully up at her, his eyes pleading with her.

Arwen smiled, shaking her head slowly. "Not yet, Estel. And to answer your earlier question, you should saddle your horse. I have already packed the saddle bags with things we would need and your pack can fit in the opposite one."

He chuckled, obeying her without question. "You have mastered the art of instructing me, My Love. You have melted into the shoes of Queen quite easily."

"Not Queen, _Indonya_." She cooed at him, her smile tweaking a just the corners of her lips. "I think the role of wife is befitting to me. I need only to speak and you do as I will."

"Aye," he answered with a nod, placing first a heavy blanket and then the saddle on his beloved horse. "Though I only obey for the hope of a reward that evening."

Her head tilted back as she laughed heartily at his insinuation, and she had to clasp a hand to her chest as he waggled his eyebrows as if he were suggesting something. "Estel, what am I to do with you?"

He smiled, swinging himself into the horse's saddle, then sorted through the belongings he brought, placing them in the empty saddle bag. "Well you have two choices, _Melmë._"

"And what might those be."

Aragorn sat tall in his saddle, grabbing the reins lightly so he could walk his stallion towards her, stopping next to her so her eyes met his, their horses standing side by side, nose to tail.

"Are you going to tell me, or is this a game and I must guess?"

"First," he began with a stern expression. "You simply must accept that this is who I am." Then the most sly smile spread across his face. "Or you could try to convince me to ... change my ways. I could be easily motivated, _Meldanya_."

"Are you that in need?" she asked him, spurring her horse to walk out the stables.

He followed her, their horses side by side as they walked down the streets of their home city. "Aye, My Lady."

His tone caught her off guard and Arwen quickly looked to him, gasping at his seemingly shaken appearance, the most obvious need flickering in his eyes.

Aragorn licked his lips, his eyes blazing with lust and desire as they gazed into one another's eyes. His look must have been intense for she quickly looked away. His horse jostled and he was nearly tossed to the ground as the Queen yelled a series of Elvish orders, her horse rearing then stomping to a halt.

As his horse calmed, the King turned his gaze forward, nervous to see what had caused the Queen to react in such a way. His eyes widened.

Arwen quickly swung off her horse, her eyes intense and focused as she gazed down at the small child. The little girl gazed up, awed at the Elvin woman and the child played with her curly blonde hair.

"Child, what are you doing?" Arwen asked, unable to keep the inflection from her voice. The child could have been trampled.

"Tylian, what are you doing? Move out of their way." An older woman spat, rushing up to the small child and standing behind her. The woman bowed her head, speaking to the ground in humble servitude. "I apologize, your Majesties, but I did not see her leave the house. I apologize for any hassle or trouble she has caused and ..."

"It is alright," Aragorn said in a confident voice. "There is no need for apologies."

Arwen smiled, kneeling before the child, causing gasps from many in her presence. "Hello, Little One," she cooed, gently, her smile warm and inviting. "You should be more careful. You could be injured."

"I know," the little child said, her eyes sparkling with the innocence so common in youth. "But I was just playing. Mama always tells me that ... that one day I'm gonna get hurt. But I haven't gotten hurt yet."

"Hush, Child," the mother scolded, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Hush your mouth."

"It is fine," Arwen said, eyeing the mother a moment before returning her gaze to the child. "Now tell me, Child, how old are you?"

Tylian smiled, her grin quirking to one side of her plump face. "I'm only three." She held up the corresponding fingers. "And I know who you are. You're the ... the ..." the child's eyes narrowed in confusion as she thought but then she smiled. "Mama says that you're the prettiest lady in all the land."

Aragorn chuckled at his wife's shy smile. "That she is, Child." He responded. "The Queen is the most beautiful creature throughout all Middle Earth."

The little girl nodded, her curls bouncing with the motion. "Yes. She is very pretty. And my Mama also says that the King is the prettiest man too."

Arwen snickered. "Yes, the King most certainly is the prettiest man." She cast a half glance over her shoulder at her husband. "Doesn't he look pretty in his black leather tunic?"

"Yes, he is the most prettiest." The child answered then cocked her head curiously. "Your ears are funny."

The mother gasped, turning a crimson red at her child's remarks. "Tylian, no."

But before she could whisk her child away to hide in fear from such a statement, Arwen held up a hand to stop any further actions. "My ears are different from yours because I am an Elf."

Tylian furrowed her tiny brow, her eyes focused intently on the strangely tipped ears. "An Elf?"

Arwen nodded. "Yes. An Elf. I am like you ... but different."

The child reached out tentatively then quickly pulled her hand back. "Your hair is very pretty too." Then she giggled. "And your ear sticks out of it."

Aragorn placed a protective hand on his wife's shoulder. "And it's a very beautiful ear."

The child nodded enthusiastically as her giggle heightened in excitement. "Yes. It is a beautiful ear. I ... I wish my ears were just like the ... the Queen's." The child again crinkled her brow, squatting down to pick up the ring of flowers that lay on the ground. She roughly handed the ring to the Queen.

"What is this?" Arwen asked, carefully taking the ring from the child. "It's very pretty. Did you make this?"

Tylian shook her head. "No. My Mama made it. It goes on your head. You take it. Mama says that when I wear it ... it makes me a princess. So ... so then shouldn't you have one too?"

Arwen smiled sweetly, almost moved to tears at how adorable this small child was. "Well I am a Queen. And if you wish me to have this ... then I shall graciously accept. Would you like to put it on my head?"

The child nodded again, more excited at such an opportunity. And as the Queen slightly bowed her head, Tylian creased her bow in greatest concentration. She had to do this perfectly. Taking her time, and being extra careful, the child laid the ring of flowers on the crown of Arwen's head and once pleased with its position, she dropped her hands to her sides, grinning with pride.

"It looks beautiful, _Melda_." Aragorn sighed then smiled at the small child standing proudly before his wife. "It is a wonderful gift. One fit for a Queen."

Arwen brushed the tips of her fingers across the child's cheek. "_Hantëalyë_."

The child cocked her head, confused at the word she didn't identify.

Aragorn chuckled, kneeling down beside his wife as he looked warmly onto the little girl. "That means 'Thank you,' in Elvish. The Queen's native tongue."

The child licked her lips, preparing to speak. "_Ha ... Hant ... Hantë ... alyë_."

Arwen's smile broadened, just hearing the child attempt the word nearly moved her to tears. "Yes, child. _Hantëalyë_."

Aragorn stood, patting Tylian on the head. "You have made the Queen very happy. But I fear we must now take our leave."

The Queen stood, looking regal as always as she nodded politely to the small child and in turn, her mother. Saying not a word, she gracefully lifted up onto the back of her stallion, sitting proudly and tall.

"Be careful, Child," Aragorn commented, his eyes warm though his words were serious. "You could be trampled." That said, the King spurred his horse, and the Royal couple continued through the city and out the main gates.

* * *

Faramir sighed, leaning against one of the pillars on his balcony. A softness in his gaze, he watched as the royal couple road across the plains and to the North. They were probably heading to the Druadan Forest. He was slightly confused as to their reason for riding to that forest. He thought that Aragorn had plans to promise that land to a people perpetually ... and that no one could go there. But then again, this was the King and if this agreement was so, Faramir could not imagine these peoples would deny the King and his Queen entrance.

"What catches your eye, My Love?"

Faramir smiled softly, his body warming at the sound of her voice. "My Darling, Eowyn."

"Were you expecting another?" She asked, playfully, her eyes twinkling as she approached him and placed a soft comforting hand on his forearm.

"Nay, my Lady." He responded with a whisper and he turned his head to gaze lovingly onto her face. "It is you ... I was waiting for."

Eowyn turned her gaze to the land of Gondor and the two racing horses that sped swiftly to the North. "I am surprised the council has allowed them to leave without escort."

"Once the Queen had left, a few of the high nobles cornered the King, pleading with him to take the proper escort to ensure his safety. Aragorn threatened to have them hanged should they insist on such an endeavor."

She chuckled. "I understand their worry. The land is still unstable. There are still many dangers."

"Yes," Faramir agreed. "But Aragorn is more than capable of taking care of himself. And from what I've been told, the Queen herself is quite the ... accomplished warrior."

"She has been to battle?"

He smiled, brushing his fingers along her cheek. "I don't know if she has seen war as you have. But according to Aragorn, who may be slightly biased, she is a skilled swordsman and quite the perfected archer."

"As are most Elves," Eowyn commented with an understanding nod. She squinted, focusing on the other figure that now rode from the gates of the city. "And who would that be, My Lord?"

Faramir laughed. "Why that appears to be one of the guards. I wouldn't be surprised if the Chamberlain sent him out to follow the royal couple, just to make sure they were safe."

An amused smirk spread across Eowyn's face. "Aragorn will have his hide."

He nodded, his smile just as amused. "That is if Arwen doesn't have it first."

Shaking her head, the beautiful Steward's wife only sighed. "That poor boy. If only he knew what he rode into."

"How long do you think until Aragorn realizes they are being tracked?"

"That depends on how distracted he is by his wife." Eowyn answered with little embarrassment on such a topic. "I believe Arwen will sense him first."

"And I think it will be Aragorn. But enough of this." Faramir led her further into their chambers. "This is a rare day. You have me all to yourself. What would you have of me?"

"Many a things, My Dear Husband," she responded with a smile before lifting onto her toes, her arms wrapping around his neck as she offered him a soft kiss.

(This is the second part. And fear not for the next shall be filled with A/A beauty. It may take some time for that update because I wish it to be perfect But I do wish to see many reviews. Reviews I adore, good and bad. Please Review.)


	3. Glade

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin 

Summery: Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

"Where are you leading me?" Aragorn called to his wife as she galloped just ahead of him. He did his best to keep up with her, though he was much heavier on his horse than she on hers. The gruff panting of the stallion beneath him echoed through his ears.

Arwen simply glanced back over her shoulder, but for only a moment. She flashed him a mischievous grin before quickly turning her attention ahead and to the path she had chosen.

Tall forest trees greeted him ahead and he followed his wife's lead as she slowed her horse to a steady walk. As he spurred his horse to her side, he could hear her faint delicate voice, whispering gentle words of praise and love to the stallion that had run so far.

"We are going in there, My Lord." She finally said to him, her voice steady and calm.

"But what is in there?"

She cocked a single brow, her face an expression of gentleness and affection. "A secret. One that I discovered as a child, when I visited this white city long ago. I only hope that it has not changed."

"Changed?"

Arwen chuckled, sitting proud and regal on her horse. "Do you forget how old I am, Estel?"

"Nay," he responded with a deep laugh. "For you will forever appear younger than I, my Queen."

"I do have another secret," she admitted, guiding her horse through the dense forest. "Faramir also spoke of this place when I first arrived and I inquired to his vast knowledge of these lands." She glanced over to him under full lashes. "He can indeed rant for hours once given the freedom and the perfect topic."

Aragorn only laughed again but chose not to respond to his sweet wife. Though he yearned to hear her speak more, his desire heightened at the prospect of listening to the realm around him. He extended great gratitude to his wife for understanding and she kept silent as well. But he could not help but believe she, as well, yearned to absorb the smells, sights, and sounds of the forest around them.

Sweetened and flower bathed air whisked through the trees, caressing his hair and his body. The horse beneath him walked slowly, steadily, its body slightly wet from the sweat of such an exhausting run. He had pushed the poor beast to immeasurable lengths in order to keep up with his wife.

He inhaled again, a strange crispness in the air. Autumn would soon fall but summer was not yet over. That beautiful sweetness enraptured him and Aragorn was unsure whether the scent was from the wild, his beautiful wife, or quite possibly both.

Birds sang luxurious melodies. Trees billowed with the fresh air. Branches extended to the clear sky, embracing the sun and the final warmths of the season. Despite the beauty of the forest around him, Aragorn could not deter his eyes from the delicate graceful form of the Elf at his side.

It seemed to him that with each day, her beauty magnified. Every breath, every movement, he could barely contain himself. Her skin so pale and perfect, her hair a dark raven, her eyes swirling with the passion of the sea, her frame so regal, so slender and her pointed Elven ears, his weakness. How he adored those ears.

"It is not polite to stare, My Love."

Aragorn shuddered, her soft words waking him of his daydream and he quickly focused his eyes on the road ahead, then staring absently to the forest canopy.

Arwen simply laughed, her gentle chuckle melodic. "You do not feign innocence well, my King."

He cracked a smile, glancing up at her as a scolded dog would his master.

"And still you do not," the Queen replied then spurred her stallion a little harder, urging him forward.

Aragorn kept up with her pace, his eyes focusing again on his wife. So proud, so tall, so slender, so voluptuous, so beautiful.

"You should mind your tongue, My Lord. It is not becoming as it waves about in the wind."

His eyes widened in shock at her explicit comment and he shivered as her laughter echoed through the wood. Laughing with her, he spurred his horse again, riding at her side.

Aragorn sighed contently as he took in the sight before him. A peaceful clearing, the grass green and rich, a few rocks scattered here and there and the canopy parted, allowing the warmth of the sun to shine brightly. To one end, the trees extended a bit farther, allowing for a peaceful shade while a small stream gurgled, twisted, and curled like an elegant serpent.

"Is this not beautiful, My Lord," Arwen whispered, her voice filled with awe and pride at the glade she had discovered.

"Aye," he responded, quickly dismounting then rushed to her side, reaching up to help her dismount as well. His eyes beaming with affection, he outstretched his arms to her. "Though its beauty pales in comparison to you."

"You always did have the gift of a silver tongue, Estel." She said soothingly, accepting his chivalrous actions. Allowing him to help her, she quickly spun away from him the moment her feet touched the ground.

Aragorn chuckled as she swirled in the grass, her hands outstretched in the air as her eyes closed. He hadn't seen her so carefree in ... he couldn't remember how long. His heart swelled at the happiness etched on every feature and his love for her flourished as she swiftly kicked out of her riding boots, pulling the offensive shoes from her feet.

She sighed in absolute delight as her feet touched the tickling blades of grass, her toes curling at the sensation.

His heart soared at her overwhelming glee. It had been too long since he'd seen her smile so. After their marriage and the weeks wore on, he could only watch helplessly as his wife slowly diminished, succumbing to the inevitability of mortal life and the cage of the white city walls. She was unused to such restrictions and her nature yearned for freedom.

In a way, he was jealous that Faramir and Eowyn would be residing in the lush region of Ithilien, where the trees grew tall and the wild still reigned supreme.

"Why such sorrow, My Lord?"

He broke from the trance, his eyes focusing on her again and his heart raced at the sudden worry reflected in her gaze. "_Indonya_, I am sorry. There is nothing wrong. I was simply thinking."

Unable to meet her eyes any longer, he quickly turned, reaching into the saddlebag on his stallion's side. Searching for anything to distract him, he pulled out a bundle of berries then a flask of sweet wine. He willed his heart to calm, his mind to stop the dizzying race and once confident with his composure, he faced her again.

To his surprise, Arwen stood across the glade, her hands brushing along her stallion's mane, caressing him and speaking in mumbled Elvish. Slated by her seemingly cold behavior, he tentatively stepped closer to her, awaiting her acknowledgement.

When none came, he ducked his head and placed the objects in his hand on the ground. Unclipping his riding cape, he spread the long fabric along the grass, creating a comforting blanket. Dropping to his knees, he picked up the wine flask and those berries before sprawling on his side, facing her.

Aragorn licked his lips, his eyes scanning the succulent curves of her feminine form, the heat of his need beginning to flicker in his core. Trying his best to ignore the sensations, he opened the bundle of berries, picking one up between two thick fingers then popping the juicy berry into his mouth.

The sweet flavor washed over his tongue and with sheer delight, he savored a second then third berry.

"Do you plan to save any for me?"

Guilty, he cast a pleading gaze upward, knowing she was standing before him. And just as he suspected, she stood at the edge of his cape, a single brow cocked.

"And what is this?" she asked, her hand gracefully motioning to his make-shift blanket. "The great King of Gondor is too mighty to lay in the grass with his wife. Your station no long allows you to enjoy such pleasantries?"

He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, withholding the hiss at the predatory glance she offered and he quickly gathered the berries and wine before scrunching up the cloak and tossing it away. Stretching out, this time on the soft grass, he beckoned her with his delightful eyes and an extended hand.

Her delightful laughter resounded through the glade, her eyes slightly squinted as her smile widened. Not wasting another moment, she slipped her hand into his, allowing him to pull her onto the grass and into his arms.

Sighing with purest contentment, Aragorn lay back on the grass, looking up at the sky, the swirling clouds and rustling leaves of the forest canopy. His lady love cuddled into his side, her palm splayed on his chest, her head nestled into his shoulder as she nuzzled close.

Aragorn smiled when she snuggled closer still and in response he tightened his arm around her, pulling her flush against his side. "You have no right to accuse me of not wishing to lay with you in the grass. Especially when you did not wish to lay with me in the stables."

The Queen smiled sweetly, her hand beginning a wonderful caress along his leather clad chest. "That is untrue. I never said I did not wish to lay with you. I said it would be improper and far too often have I forgotten myself in the reserved stuffy Gondorian society."

He laughed heartily. "Ah, I was worried at first that some plague had befallen you. I thought it odd that you say such a thing about lying in the stable. Do you not remember ..."

"I do remember," she chided with a gentle slap on the chest. "And if my Father had found out, certainly you'd have felt the edge of his sword."

"But your honor remained in tact, My Lady."

"Aye," she responded then pushed up just enough to look in his eyes. "But I still do not believe he would have liked his daughter kissing the young mortal boy in the stables."

His smile brightened and he reached out, brushing the tips of his fingers along her cheek then through her hair before swirling around the tip of her ear. "It was not only kissing, _Melda_, for you lay in my arms in the hay. Oh, how I yearned for more than a kiss and a gentle lover's caress that night. But I could not dare ask, nor pursue."

"Do you know what I would have done would you had asked?"

Aragorn felt his heart race, his body tensing slightly and he had to remind himself to continue breathing. Swallowing hard, he willed himself capable of an intelligible response. "I know not, My Lady, for a man of my valor and etiquette expects naught of a lady but what she would give willingly."

"Ah, and yet again you reply with the skill of a poet, My Love."

"And though my gift may excel that of many men, I am afraid that there is another who succeeds my own skills."

Arwen nodded slowly, her smile gentle as she laid her head back on his shoulder, snuggling fully into the arms of the man she adored. "Aye. Faramir does, indeed, possess a great talent with words."

He shook his head, though the smile did not leave his face. "It was a sad day when the Steward of Gondor wed the White Lady of Rohan and his vows exceed his King's in beauty."

"That is not true, my Lord," she said softly, her voice floating on the wind. "I was moved by your silence."

"Silence," he sighed. "The man who is called the greatest of men was struck silent on his wedding day. Through orcs and wraiths, trolls and every other fearsome beast born out of Mordor, I have kept my composure, still yelled orders to my men. And yet when the day finally came for me to prove my courage, to declare my unbound love to you before all the people of this land ... I failed."

"And again, I must correct you." She lifted her head, staring sweetly into his eyes, her own eyes reflecting the purest love. "Your silence had spoken more than any poem ever uttered."

"My beautiful Evenstar," he muttered, his eyes awed at the ethereal perfection before him. "If only I could have spoken the vows that you deserved to hear. But I was stunned and in my foolishness had to utter the only words that came to mind. The traditional vows to wed."

"Oh, Estel."

Aragorn averted his eyes, unable and undeserving to gaze into their depths. "Faramir had shocked all, including his bride when he chose to utter his vows in her native tongue. And although his accent was abominable ... his words moved her to tears. I never thought to see the brave Lady of Rohan shed a tear, but the Steward of Gondor accomplished the unattainable."

Arwen smiled. "Aye. I am only glad that she said her vows before him. I feared after he spoke that she would faint. And I am only pleased that in Gondor, the vows are the finality of the ceremony."

"Faramir was so happy that day," he continued. "And when the ceremony was finalized ... he wiped the still flowing tears from her eyes. Their kiss was so pure ... so ..." he sighed. "Did our wedding make you happy, _Melda?_"

She leaned in the final distance between them, carefully and reverently capturing his bottom lip between hers. Holding the kiss as long as possible, she pressed against him even more. Finally breathless, she pulled back only the slightest bit. "Look in my eyes, _Melm_ë."

Aragorn obeyed.

She twirled a single finger through his hair then traced down the length of his jaw before teasing the facial hair on his chin. "I would not be happy were we apart. Tell me, Ellesar. Tell me your vows now. What would have you said had not you been struck dumb?"

"I could not help it." He responded. "Your beauty ... your elegance ... the thought that you were finally mine. The rush of emotions as I couldn't help but visualize our first night together as husband and wife."

"Tell me, Estel." She repeated, continuing her slow torturous tease of his chin, cheeks and jaw before tracing that finger up to his ear to play with the soft flesh of the shell.

Aragorn shuddered, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he regained himself. "There is much I had planned to say to you that day. But you stood before me so beautiful, I was speechless. I just ... my mind erased and I simply could not take my eyes off of you."

"Tell me what you would have said,"

"I have been to each end of this earth. I have seen great horrors and great beauties. Yet nothing but you drove me forward. Your faith, your love gave me the strength I needed to face the dark Lord. My love for you knows no bounds. I would have stormed the Black Gates of Mordor alone if it meant your happiness ... your safety. I love you, My Darling Evenstar, forever. I am yours."

Arwen's smile broadened, her eyes flickering with a most intense love yet there was still a hint of playfulness. "Was that so hard, My Lord?"

"Nay," he answered, ashamed that his wife could best him so. "For you already knew all of which I spoke. You know that you need only breathe the word and I am at your command."

Teasing, she brushed her lips across his, adoring the shiver that wracked to his very bones. "And what of now ... with a simple ..." her lips brushed his again. "Tantalizing ..." she sealed their lips for a moment. "Kiss."

Aragorn could only groan.

"Come now, My King," she taunted with a lustful eye. "Is that how I can so easily diminish you?" She reached to the side, picking up a plump berry between two delicate and slender fingers. Presenting it to him, she traced the curves of his lips, offering him the sweet delight of their flavor.

He bit through the berry, purposefully only taking half, knowing the juices would pour across his lips and chin. Savoring the bite, he watched her, knowing she would eat the other half. His body shuddered when she did. He did not lick his lips nor make an attempt to clear the juices from his mouth. He knew she would never let the sweet juices linger.

Arwen licked her lips, leaning down to kiss him, gathering the juices from his lips, jaw and chin.

As her lips trailed along his beard and even slightly down his neck, Aragorn sighed. "Ah, you never fail me, _Melda_." Wrapping an arm around her back, he rolled them over, settling on top of his wife as his lips met hers for a feverish embrace.

A delicate whimper escaped her as the kiss intensified and she wiggled and squirmed beneath her husband as his hands traced intricate and delicate patterns along her sides then stomach. His lips eventually released her mouth only to trace the length of her jaw then down her throat, finding the spot he knew so well.

She shivered as his one hand trailed lower still, weaving to her legs to caress her thighs. Her control dwindling, she mumbled in Elvish, her words coated with affection, and tender endearments; her words coaxing him further.

Aragorn lost himself in the moment. Finally he beheld his beautiful wife. She was submitting to him, allowing him to display his utmost desires. Too engrossed in his task, he did not notice when she stiffened, her eyes opened and ear perked in alert.

Arwen listened carefully, ignoring her husbands roaming lust. "Estel, listen."

He grumbled a series of inaudible syllables, his mouth working down her throat to the tendons at her shoulder.

"My Love," she whispered. "We are being watched."

His torturous lips wandered up to her ear, teasing the tip a moment before placing a warm kiss on the full shell. "Then they shall watch me take my wife in this forest glade." His voice husked, laced with purest lust as he slipped his tongue into her ear.

She could not withhold her moan of satisfaction, her eyes fluttering at the sensation. "Estel ... my Love ... ah..." she licked her lips, willing herself to maintain control. This was so mortal of her, this reaction. She should have more control than to simply seep into helpless oblivion from only his touch ... his kiss.

"Arwen, my need ..." he trailed off, pressing his hips against her to make sure she could feel his desire.

But she shook her head. "Be it only one man I sensed, I would care not." She exhaled a shaky breath, her arms tightening around his shoulders, her nails digging into him. "But I sense others. A ... a man to the ... to the east. And ... and something else to the north."

Aragorn slowed his actions, still letting his lips linger on her throat. His eyes were open as his hands moved slowly, trying to signal they knew of another's presence. He listened carefully, his lips sealing at random intervals along her throat.

"Do you sense him, My Love?"

"Aye," he responded, deeply. "I believe that to the north is nothing more than a stag. But the man is to the east. Look his way, _Melda,_ in feigned passion. See if your Elven eyes catch sight."

Arwen sighed, releasing a soft moan as her head fell to the side, her eyes half lidded as she gazed into the wood. "I see him, My Love. But I doubt if you will." Her arms tightened around his body, pulling him closer. "But I can only see the glimmer of his armor. Where is your bow?"

"Foolish," he chided himself. "It is in my saddle." He sighed, shaking his head. "As is my sword and I forgot to strap my dagger to my belt."

She smiled, turning to place a soft kiss to his ear. "Then you are lucky that I did not forget mine." She shifted against him slightly. "There, _Melda_, my waist. Take it."

He grinned, cheekily, flicking his tongue at her lips for but a moment. "And a lovely waist it is, My Dear." Caressing her side, he carefully wrapped his fingers around the handle of the small blade then sealed their lips one final time. "Wait here for me."

Aragorn did not wait for her response. He quickly unsheathed her dagger and leapt to his feet, racing into the woods. His senses alert, he knew exactly where their voyeur was. His eyes widened when he felt a fast wisp of air brush past his ear and only when he heard a man's cry did he startle.

Meandering through the brush of the forest, he squatted to the ground, stealthily working his way closer, around some trees. The intruder should be just ...

The king furrowed his brow. Standing tall, he recognized the Gondorian armor of the man before him and his eyes narrowed as he cocked his head.

The boy was no older than twenty, only the faint scruffage of a beard along his jaw. His hair a luscious golden blond, his eyes wide and deep honey brown. "My ... my king ..."

Aragorn scanned the young soldier, a smile pulling at his lips as he noted the arrow just above his shoulder, pinning the cloak – and in turn – the boy to the large ancient tree. The king glanced back over his shoulder as he heard another approach and his senses did not fail him as his wife reached his side, his bow clutched tightly in her hand.

Her breaths fell delicately from her lips, despite the exertion to sprint quietly through the woods. "He is a man of Gondor."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed, grabbing the man's tunic quite roughly. "Leather." His eyes wandered to the man's arms, noting the intricate linking. "Mail." Finishing their scan, he met the eyes of the guard before him. "You wear greens and browns. A Ranger?"

The young man nodded, quickly, his fear shimmering in his eyes.

The king shook his head. "A poor ranger you be. So far away and yet still detected. How long have you been in service?"

"Not long, My Lord," the younger man answered with a shaky voice. "But I had not made a sound. I ..." he bowed his head. "Forgive my intrusion but I ... I was only following my orders."

"And what of the orders I gave." Aragorn stated.

"I know naught of those orders, My King," the boy responded, a bit more strength to his voice. "The Chamberlain bid me to follow you and should something happen, I am to blow this horn."

Aragorn followed the boy's movements, his eyes falling on the warning horn at his belt before looking at the ranger's face again.

The young ranger licked his dry lips again, his heart fluttering high within his throat. "He ... the Chamberlain feared for your well-being. He feared that ..."

"He feared that I would corrupt their king?"

Both men turned surprised eyes upon the Queen.

Arwen stood proud and tall though she withheld any emotions from marring her features, her eyes, however, could not hide. "I hear their words behind closed doors. I hear what they mumble. I am Elven; do they not realize I can hear, see and sense things I mere man cannot." Her voice laced with venom, accenting the word 'man' with deep malice.

Aragorn watched with worried eyes as his wife seethed. He had never seen her anger, not like this. Ignoring the presence of the other man, he took one step towards the raging elf. "Arwen?"

She jerked away from him, her head shaking in dismissal. "They believe I am to corrupt their king. That I am to poison his mind with Elven ways, the ways of my people. They fear that I am to simply tug on his strings and control him in governing. They fear that which they do not understand. They do not understand what I had willingly given up for my love of men and my love of this man. They do not understand all I have lost ... all that I shall never regain. I am but an enemy of the kingdom of men for no other reason than because I am of Elf-kind."

Rabid with emotion, the Queen took two steps closer to the young ranger, her eyes glaring, her passion aflame. Her voice fell to but a soft husk, though the anger and intensity could easily chill. "They forget so quickly that my people died for their salvation. They forget so quickly that it was not the weakness of Elves, but the weakness of men who allowed for Sauron to survive. It is the weakness of men who are to blame for the war that so recently passed. I was mistaken to believe the hearts of men would ever change."

Aragorn watched silently as his wife turned and purposefully walked back through the forest in the direction of the glade they had so recently left. His passionate anger burning with cause, he turned furious eyes upon the ranger before him. He barely noticed how the boy shuddered and did not withhold anything. Reaching out, he grabbed the arrow and yanked it forcefully from its place, releasing the boy.

The king's eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched. "You will return to the Chamberlain immediately. You will inform him of my wife's detection, her accurate arrow and the anger of your king. You will inform him that the moment I return, I wish his company ... alone. You will not tell him what you have heard my wife say. And you will not tell him of anything else you saw. Is that understood?"

The young man nodded.

"Good," the King pointed, his voice oddly calm. "Your name, Boy." When he received no answer, his tone rose. "Your name!"

"D ... D ... Dorythan."

Aragorn nodded, his every feature tensed. "Leave us. Now."

Dorythan stumbled, quickly skittering off through the woods, running as fast as he could.

The King watched the man race off and once content the intruder was gone for good, Aragorn turned back to the glade, walking slowly. The anger had quickly drained from his body, replaced by only sadness and sorrow. He had been foolish. He had been so blissfully happy that he was blind to see the obvious problems between the Gondorian court and his choice for an Elven wife. He held no regrets except the thought that he could not keep his wife happy. Despite all his attempts, her heart will forever be heavy.

Reaching the glade, his eyes scanned, but instantly worry set in. "Arwen?" he called, his eyes quickly searching. He ran further into the glade, stopping by his cloak and instantly noticing her boots were missing. "Arwen!"

She was gone as was her horse.

Desperate, he gave a sharp whistle and his stallion obeyed, trotting next to him then giving a snort of recognition. "Where did she go?" he asked the horse, quickly sweeping up his cloak and fastening it. He shoved the berries and flask of wine into the saddle bag and with perfected agility, he mounted then spurred his horse, racing through the wood as fast as he could. "Where is she?" he asked the horse again, leaning down close to the neck to allow for an easier run. His eyes constantly scanned, willing his ranger tracking to search for the tracks of her horse.

As he immerged from the wood, he saw her. Her lithe figure, mounted on the most graceful of stallions. She peaked the hill far in the distance and just as he saw her, she galloped from his sights down that grassy hill. She was headed back to Minas Tirith.

(I love the positive response to this fic of mine. I love every review and would love more. I like to know what everyone thinks. I care not if it's good or bad. Please review and let me know.)


	4. Solace

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

NEW NOTE: Alright, so I came to the conclusion exactly what this is gonna be. Slightly AU, as you can already tell and I am taking some liberties in order to make my story work. I know Eowyn and Faramir are taking an important part of this story, but they are just as important as Arwen/Aragorn.

* * *

Eowyn smiled brightly, tugging a little harder on her husband's arm as they strolled through the marketplace of Minas Tirith. Her eyes casually scanned the vendors and all their goods, making sure her arm stayed protectively linked in his.

Faramir chuckled, amused at her display of possessiveness. "Do you fear that someone would steal me away?"

"Always," she answered, dryly, her tone giving no hint of jest. But after a moment's pause, she glanced up at him, a flicker of mischief hiding behind her eyes. "But I am deterring my own would be suitors, thank you very much."

He stopped, a huge grin on his face as he turned to her, grabbing her shoulders as he leaned down, his nose to hers. "Perhaps I should stake my claim then."

She placed her fingers against his lips, both silencing him and preventing him from his desire. "I am not so sure the people of this city would appreciate their Steward ravaging his wife so in the marketplace."

"Who said I would ravage her?" he breathed, closing the final distance for a soft kiss.

He touched her with nothing more than his lips, holding the kiss as long as he could and Eowyn felt her knees weaken at the fire he ignited within her at so gentle and intimate a gesture.

"I would never ravage you in public," he said, pulling back from her. "I would not want others to get any ideas. And I finally now see how stuffy the people of Gondor are. They would not appreciate such a rabid display of affection."

Her eyes flickered with desire and intimacy. "They may not. But I would not mind." Before he could respond or even honor her request, she continued walking through the market place, leaving a slack jawed Steward behind.

Faramir took a few moments to gather his wits. Her words had shocked him. True, his White Lady was never one to censor her thoughts nor her actions, though she never quite cared for flirtatious teasing. She always wished him to speak plainly and to cease talking in riddles. He considered his speech poetry, not riddles and it took some time for Eowyn to enjoy his compliments.

He quickened his pace, catching up with her and slipping his arm in hers. His heart burst with overwhelming affection when she looked up at him and smiled. Oh, her smile. He could sit down and write sonnets about the beauty of her smile, her eyes, her every feature. His revere slowly dissipated when he realized she was speaking.

"... never understand why. I never had this kind of attention in Rohan and to be honest, Dear Husband, I am not sure that I am fond of it."

Faramir shook his head. "I'm sorry, Love. What did you say? What are you talking about?"

"Are you not listening?" She quipped back, though her tone slightly scolding, her eyes still danced. "You are already good at blocking out the voice of a nagging wife."

"Nay, My Lady," he responded with a chuckle. "I was too engrossed in your beauty." He leaned down, his lips near her ear so he could whisper only to her. "I am always engrossed in your beauty, my Beautiful Shieldmaiden."

Eowyn's smile brightened as she turned her head slightly, her voice matching his hushed tone. "Maiden no longer."

"Indeed not. Maiden no longer. But you are still my Shieldmaiden. My Wild Rohirrim Wife. My Love whose beauty exceeds that of Lúthien herself." He reached out, stroking his fingers along her cheek then through her silken gold locks. "My Untamed, Free Spirited Warrior. My ..."

"Hold your tongue," she chided with a laugh. "I fear you drown me with such undeserved compliments, My Lord."

"Only if you inform me of your troubles."

Eowyn's eyes carefully scanned the area around them. "It is the ever present guards that follow our every step. I wish for freedom."

"Then my Lady shall have it. Do you still wonder why I had brought my old Ranger's cloak?"

She glanced down at the ragged green cloak in his arms. "I must admit, I think it odd that you have brought it, hid it from these guards as best you could and abandoned your usual cloak."

"You shall see, My Beautiful Wife. Do you trust me?"

She smiled. "Always."

"Then fear not. Simply do as I do, and as I say."

She watched as he straightened tall, his eyes searching the market place. Almost impatient, he looked carefully, hoping to find the distraction he needed. Eru must have been smiling on him that day.

Faramir pointed across the market. "Guards, there. That woman. Stop him."

The guards, alarmed, immediately obeyed their Captain and raced to the woman he pointed at, continuing after the man who was walking away. One of the guards grabbed the lanky man, yanking him around to face him. "What do you think you're doing? You were caught taking money from that young woman."

"What?" The smaller man shivered, his eyes widened in fear and confusion. "I ... I did not. I did no such thing."

That same woman raced to the guards. "No, stop. What are you doing? Leave him alone."

The guards, unsure of her reaction, released the man though kept the two surrounded. "This man was spotted stealing."

"He did not," the woman rebutted, her eyes demure but her tone strong. "This is my betrothed. I know he put his hand in my skirt pocket but he didn't take anything. He ..." the woman blushed furiously. "He ..."

The man bowed his head too, stepping next to the woman and wrapping his arm around her waist. His hand slowly caressed the woman's waist then down her hip.

The guards seemingly understood at that moment and some of the younger one's couldn't keep the ridiculous smiles off their faces. The head guard only shook his head. "Let's get back to Lord Faramir." The guard's face fell. "Where's Lord Faramir?"

* * *

Eowyn chuckled when Faramir quickly grabbed her hand, ducked down and swiftly maneuvered through the throng of people. She couldn't believe they were skulking about their own city in a desperate attempt to be alone. "They're calling you, My Love." She said with a laugh.

"I know, My Dear. And I wish to be completely out of their sight." He pulled her into one of the side alleys and threw her against the wall.

Her back hit the wall with force and she was unsure at his sudden actions. He wasted no time, draping his tattered cloak over his shoulders and clasping it around his neck.

He pulled the hood up, hiding his hair and partially covering his eyes. He did not miss the flicker of want that crossed his wife's face, nor the way she licked her lips with hunger. He licked his own lips. "And now, My Dear Eowyn, I'll teach you how to disappear."

Her breath caught in her throat as he stepped closer and she shivered as his arms band around her, draping the cloak over both of them as he pinned her to the wall. Her eyes widened, her heart racing as he leaned down, ensuring he encased her completely from view. She licked her lips again when he lifted her cloak's hood, draping it over her head to hide her a bit more as well.

"Find him! If anything happened to him, I'll have your heads!"

Faramir smiled at his guard's voice but he cared not. How could he when such a delicious woman stood before him, her body flush against his and her hands slipping beneath his cloak to roughly caress his back through his deep green cloth tunic. He inched closer still, his lips hovering over hers. "Within a few seconds, the guards will run by and ..." he trailed off, his lips tweaking with a winning smile.

Eowyn leaned even further into him. "Then perhaps we should ... disappear?"

"I agree," he breathed, his lips brushing over hers. "My Lovely Wife." He pressed his lips to hers, his hands traveling over soft curves, ensuring his cloak still encased her. He moaned when she responded with vigor, coaxing his lips apart and he desperately accepted the deep sensual kiss she offered.

She sighed into his mouth, leaning further into him, her body caving with the rush of tenderness and desire that flowed through her veins. Her knees buckled and she yearned to rake her fingers through his hair. But she resisted, knowing he needed the hood to hide them.

He moaned again as he titled his head a little further, his tongue tangling with hers in such a gentle yet still passionate kiss. His heart melted, his body surging with the unyielding pleasure she always offered. It shocked him sometimes how her kiss was so unlike her personality. His wild White Lady of Rohan, uncaged, free, full of life and passion. Yet her kiss was always tentative, soft, unsure. So self conscious, even frightened.

No matter how many kisses they shared, no matter how many times they had consummated their love, she never regained confidence. She remained as tentative and nervous as their first kiss. It was as if every kiss was her first. And he loved her for it.

"Such a wonderful kiss," she mumbled into his mouth, panting on his parted lips as they stayed as such, breathing each other. "Did they pass?"

Faramir nodded, his breathing ragged as he tried his best to control himself.

Eowyn smiled, teasingly brushing her lips along his. "My Love, I thought you said you would never ravage your wife in public."

He chuckled, caught and found out. "I apologize, My Lady, if I have indeed offended you."

She cocked a single brow, teasing him in every way she knew how. "In truth, My Lord, I accept your apology. But it is also quite hot standing here wrapped in two cloaks with my husband before me. I fear it is very unbecoming of me to appear so."

Faramir smiled. "Then let us return home. It is almost dusk." He linked their arms, tossing the hood back so the breeze could caress his face. He pressed a kiss to his wife's forehead before leading her back out into the streets. "I must admit, Eowyn, that when you kissed me in the garden earlier, I did not expect you to wish me to accompany you to the markets. I assumed you had something ... different ... in mind for us."

"Nay, I missed you, My Lord," she answered with confidence. "It has been long since we could spend time together like this. I wished for your company."

He was about to respond when loud shouting echoed behind him. Curious, he turned and his eyes widened as he quickly grabbed Eowyn and spun her out of the street against a building.

Arwen, though managing to be careful, did not slow her horse as she raced up the road to her home. She did not notice the looks people flashed, nor the concerned Steward and his wife to the side. But she knew her husband was following behind her and she was in no condition to face him.

Aragorn wished to call his wife, wanted to scream her name, praying she would listen and slow down. But he could not do that. Whether out of respect for her or the formalities of the Gondorians, he did not know.

Faramir wrapped a protective arm around Eowyn, pulling her against him to ensure she would not be injured by the rushing pace of the King and Queen. Once the two horses had galloped passed, he turned to the woman at his side. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, his eyes searching hers. "Are you alright? I did not jostle you, my Love."

"I am fine," she responded swiftly, waving off his concern for her. "Was that Ar ... the King and Queen?"

He nodded. "That is who I saw. What think you?"

"I think there are problems. And I think we should be returning to the castle with great haste."

"I agree," Faramir answered then grabbed her hand, swiftly walking back up to the castle. "You speak to Arwen. I will find the King."

"What do I say?" she asked, a hint of worry in her tone. "I am not one for comfort. I am not the healer with words of comfort. I am not skilled with such gifts."

"You are skilled, My Love." He responded. "Arwen, though she may be angry, is still an Elf. If her anger is with someone else, surely she will not vent that anger on you. And anyway," he glanced back over his shoulder at her. "You pulled me back from the shadow. If you have been able to give me hope ..." he sighed.

She smiled, flattered though the worry still raced through her heart. "My Lord, what I have done for you, I still do not understand." She stopped, tugging on his hand so he would stop too. "I know not how to comfort. I am a warrior, a Shieldmaiden. I am not one for speech."

He cupped her face, pulling her towards him and he placed a warm kiss on her brow. "You will be fine. But from the look of Aragorn when he raced passed us ..."

"Yes, yes," she said quickly, grabbing his hand as she ran back to the castle. "We must hurry.

* * *

Eowyn quickened down the corridors of the palace, desperate to reach the Queen's rooms before Aragorn. If her husband had succeeded, the King was probably in his study to discuss the recent events. Panting delicately, she bustled up the final set of stairs.

Two guards stood tall and stone-like at the end of the hallway. Slowing her pace to a leisurely stroll, she approached the two men. "Is the Queen in her chambers?"

"My Lady," the guards addressed then bowed in respect. "Aye, the Queen is in her chambers but she had requested no audience."

"This is important personal business." Eowyn said, simply. "I shall tell her that you did not wish to physically restrain the Steward's wife for it would have been most improper. I shan't be long."

Before the guards could respond, she entered the door, closing it quickly behind her and flicking the lock. She didn't want any unnecessary intruders. Gathering her wits, she turned.

The fire burnt warm in the hearth; candles illuminated the corners and shadows of the room. There was no light from the bedchamber nor the bathing room. But the balcony blinds were drawn.

With a nod, Eowyn approached the small balcony, not surprised when she found the Queen.

Arwen sighed, placing her hands on the stone balcony as she leaned over to see the bustling streets below. Her head hung, her shoulders slumped. This was not the Elven Queen anyone knew. "Why have you come?"

Her calm voice broke Eowyn from her thoughts and she nervously licked her lips. "Faramir and I were in the streets of the city when you raced by. We were quite worried. It was unlike you ... if I may be so bold."

A bitter chuckle escaped the Queen and she only shook her head. "I have not been myself lately. I ... bother not."

"Nay," Eowyn persisted, stepping a little closer. "Do tell me, My Lady, for I may understand. Though I do not have your wisdom, I do find ourselves in similar positions at this moment."

Arwen turned, her deep eyes swirling with the current of oceans. "You are out of place."

Eowyn bowed. "I am sorry," she responded, her voice shaking slightly. "I did not wish to offend you. I only wish to help."

Again, Arwen sighed. "Nay, I am sorry. It seems as if I can not control my emotions and I know not why." She paused a long moment, her eyes drifting over the city and then out to the mountainous horizon. "Perhaps it is being mortal. But never before have I felt such fires and I know not how to control them. I did not think that my decision would result in this catty inability to control myself."

Eowyn chuckled, holding a hand up when the Queen seemed angered. "Nay, I do not laugh at you. I laugh at myself. I have never controlled such emotions. I see no need to. That fire is how I know that I am alive. When the fire within me suffocates, so then I know that I must be dead."

"For you ... perhaps," Arwen said, her voice unwavering, her control returning. "But this fire you speak of is not a fire that burns within me."

"My Lady ..."

The Queen shook her head. "We speak intimately, yet you address me so. Nay, in private company, Dear Eowyn, call me Arwen."

Eowyn smiled. "Arwen, then if you would bid me to speak as myself and not the respectable Gondorian I am to be in court."

A genuine smile on her face, the Queen nodded. "I hear you like to speak plainly. Then you may always do so in my company."

Eowyn released a sigh of relief. "I believe what frustrates you is the same of that which frustrates me." She glanced around the city. "I hate this place."

At the admission, Arwen bowed her head, unrelenting to speak of her heart.

"It is so cold, so uncaring. There is no fire, no passion. There is no carefree thought, no freedom. This place is a cage, a prison. And if it is a prison to the Wild Lady of Rohan, I do believe it would be a cage to an Elf of Rivendell."

Arwen did not respond at first. How odd that one could so easily read her. She was not sure if she approved or was frightened by Eowyn's quick perceptions. "Indeed."

Eowyn's eyes brightened. "Then Faramir told me we were going to live in the forests of Ithilien and I could be free." She sighed. "I do not fair well here. I am not made for this kind of life."

"Did you hold Aragorn dear to your heart?"

Eowyn's smile fell from her face, her expression one of horror. Her face paled and she licked her lips. "I ..."

Arwen kept her gaze straight, eyeing the sky. "I have heard stories." Calm, reserved, the Queen turned to face Eowyn. "I do not hold you at fault. I just wish to know."

Refusing to show weakness, Eowyn straightened, her head high and shoulders square. "I had loved Elessar once. Though now remembering back, it was more infatuation. He represented freedom to me. He could take me away from Edoras and the corruption and the pain. I sought refuge not love. I see that now."

"And Faramir?"

"What of him?" Golden hair brushed across Eowyn's face and she quickly wisped it away. "He is my husband. I am afraid I do not understand your questioning. You have directed this conversation away from you and onto me. I do not love Elessar, if that is the answer you seek."

"As easily as you read me, I can see you." Arwen said slowly. "I am happy here. I do not see this as a cage or a prison. Yes, I miss the forests but with Aragorn, I can ignore my need for that land. I ignore the call to the sea and my desire for my family. The fire you speak of, from within, does burn inside of me but only when it comes to my Estel."

Assured that she was being attacked, Eowyn clenched her jaw.

"My control broke today. I snapped at a young boy who did naught wrong. He only did what he was instructed and I see now that with Aragorn's position, we have no private life. I said many things I should not have and now Estel knows my thoughts. I fear for what he will do."

"I do not understand. What is this to Faramir and I?"

"It is not that I am unhappy here," Arwen continued. "Yes, I do miss the forests and I know the King will do everything he can to bring me solace. But I am frustrated because of the wariness I am approached with. I know many nobles speak of me behind closed doors and do not approve of our marriage. Yet I have also heard them speak of you. And speak of your love for Aragorn and your marriage to the Steward instead."

Eowyn's eyes flashed with a wave of understanding. "They would have had me marry him in your stead."

Arwen nodded slowly, her eyes springing with sadness though no other expression revealed sorrow. "Though they would have preferred a noble woman of Gondor, of his same race. Even you are not of the race of the man you married. But I feel they would have preferred you to me."

"I shall speak plainly to you," Eowyn stated. "A part of me will always love Aragorn. He healed me. He showed me what it is to be free. I saw freedom in his eyes and he showed me that one can be free despite the confines of sorrow and despair. He never gave up hope, he never fell into the pain and betrayal that surrounded us all. I love him as my King. But my heart belongs to Faramir."

"Yet you are imprisoned?"

"It is these walls that are my cage," Eowyn admitted. "These confines of life that I never knew."

"And are you certain that Ithilien will bring you the reprieve you seek?"

"Aye."

Arwen stepped closer, placing a soft comforting hand on Eowyn's shoulder. "You see Minas Tirith as a prison. Are you sure it is not marriage ... it is not Faramir that you see as a cage?"

Eowyn's eyes narrowed, her body tense at such an accusation. "Why say you such wretched things?"

"Because if it were false, you would not feel anger at their statement."

Eowyn made no response. Could the Queen be right? Did she see Faramir as a cage, a prison? Was it marriage that had locked her away? Thinking back over the last months with Faramir, even before their marriage, Eowyn recalled their words. His romantic wiles and poetic verse. The words 'I love you' rolled often from his tongue and yet she had never returned them.

She had thought she loved Faramir. There was no reason she should not. Faramir loved her so of course, she would love him. He certainly was a handsome man, but was that the only reason she desired him? No, that could not be. She loved Faramir ... at least she thought she did.

"Faramir, would never cage me," Eowyn responded. "I am free to my whim and he would not stop me. He knows I need to be free. That is why I wed him. I knew he would let me be free."

Arwen nodded, slowly. "I never meant to place doubt in you, Eowyn. I just wish for you to understand."

Eowyn's eyes, cold and hard turned on the Queen. "I fear I do not understand why you placed this doubt in me."

"Because if you doubt, then there can not be love."

Eowyn quickly shook her head, vicious in her attempt to clear her mind of such swirling thoughts. "I did not come here to be placed on a pedestal to be examined. I came here with intentions of comforting you and yet I take your leave with only confusion, doubt and heartache. Good night, Your Majesty."

Arwen watched with saddened eyes as the young Rohirric woman took her leave. The Elven Queen slowly shook her head. "By Eru, may you see the happiness you possess before it is too late."

Sighing, Arwen walked back into her chambers, rearranging her riding clothes, ensure they were tied snug. Picking up her cloak, she swung it around her back, fastening it carefully at the neck. Searching the room, she cursed herself for not taking her dagger from Aragorn and so instead, found his resting on one of the chests in the corner.

Fastening the dagger to her belt, she picked up the Elven short sword her brothers had made for her many years ago and held fast to the leather sheath. Moving quite silently, the Queen slipped from room and stopped in front of the guard outside her chambers.

The guard offered her a most curious look then cocked his head. "Your Majesty?"

Arwen licked her lips, stilling the nerves rising within her. "Tell none what you see."

"But my Lady, the King ..."

"Tell him not," she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt and to ensure her point was made, she looked at the two other guards placed by her door. "Tell none. I wish to be alone."

The guards nodded as the Queen whisked down the hallway, her cloak fluttering with her hastened steps. The younger guard glanced to his superiors. "Should we inform the King?"

The guard in charge shook his head. "I will not disobey my Queen. She wishes for privacy. We shall let her have it. In one hour, we will tell him of her departure."

The younger guard nodded. "We allow her the time to escape but still we can let the King know as quickly as possible." His eyes darted back and forth between the two other guards. "And who would tell the King?"

The two older guards smiled. "Why, you, Buryn, of course."

Buryn swallowed hard, his young face paling at the prospect of telling the King of the Queen's departure especially after a one hour delay.

The head guard turned to the other beside him. "Take a party of two and follow her. Stay far enough behind that perhaps she does not know of your presence. It would be on my head should something befall her under my watch."

(Can anyone see where this is going? Read and review please. I love to know what everyone thinks.)


	5. Trouble

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

Never before had he been faced with such insurmountable frustration. And as Aragorn sat in the large chair of his study, mulling over the many different papers on his desk, he could not escape the inevitable.

Did his wife lie? Was she simply mistaken about his court? He had not seen or heard such displeasures, though he was also too busy enraptured in the bliss of his marriage.

He wished to see her, to speak with her and yet words had suddenly escaped him. What could he say? What could he do? He could always take her in his arms and show her just how much he loved her and yet that solution seemed not to be a solution at all. She does not doubt his love or loyalty. Her doubts lie within the hearts of others.

A soft rasp on the wooden door broke his attention and he quickly gathered a pile of papers, stacking them in the attempts to appear at work. "Enter."

The door opened slowly and the King recognized the one who entered without even looking up. Aragorn refused to raise his eyes but instead kept keenly focused on whichever paper was on top of his pile. "Faramir, my friend, what brings you here?"

"I have come to see if you wish for my assistance with any matters of state."

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay, I do not. I believe I have everything well controlled. Is there anything else you require?" He looked up at that question and a flood of guilt raided his senses at the unease of his Steward. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to put you ill at ease."

"There is no offense, Sire," Faramir said with a polite nod. "I sense your trouble and only wish to ease your suffering. Perhaps you would like me to see over matters of state. You can retire for the evening and go to your wife."

Aragorn let out a bitter chuckle. "I do not believe that is wise. I enjoy the distraction my work offers. And I fear that my wife's company would not be the wisest of meetings."

"Trouble?"

Aragorn smiled, meeting the curious eyes of his friend. "I know we passed you in the Market square, Faramir. Do not play naïve. Come. Sit."

Faramir obeyed, taking the seat in front of the King's desk. His eyes wandered over the mass of unfinished work and a smile pulled at his lips. "I do see you are indeed distracted, my Lord."

"Why say you this?"

Faramir pointed at the papers that sat before the King. "Those reports you were studying so carefully are upside down."

Quickly placing the papers to the side, a teasing smile fell onto Aragorn's face. "And you would do mind not to point out your King's idiocy."

Laughing his response, Faramir settled back into the high back chair. "If it so pleases thee, I shan't make another such comment."

"Tell me, Faramir," the King began, leaning forward, his elbows propped on the desk and his chin resting on his thumbs. "And do please be honest with me."

"Of course," Faramir answered, his tone as serious as the King's.

"Is Eowyn happy?"

Taken aback by his question, the Steward stiffened slightly. "I believe she is, my Lord, yet I do see the remnants of shadow in her eyes. Why do you ask?" He couldn't admit his fear to the king. He had to bite his tongue about his doubts of her true affection. Faramir knew he was not first in Eowyn's heart and he readily accepted he may never be. But he was not bound to yield his wife to his King, if that was indeed was Aragorn's intention. Perhaps the King regretted his decision to deny the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. Perhaps Aragorn truly loved her and yet did not realize it till this moment. Faramir swallowed hard. Perhaps he needed to cease his mind from racing with such absurdities.

Aragorn kept his eyes on his desk, his gaze tracing the intricate wooden grain. "Though the great war has ended, another war is still brimmed. There are battles and treaties despite this time of peace. I have long wondered if our lands will ever truly be at peace. And now I wonder if our private lives will ever be at rest."

Faramir did not speak but held his head high, his eyes unwavering.

"Even if peace can be found in our lands, I can finally see the battle that will continue within my own walls."

Guarded, Faramir inhaled sharply. "If you mean to accuse me of disloyalty to take your thrown, I assure you, My Liege, that I have no such intension."

"Not you," Aragorn clarified. "I meant no attack on you. I mean the disapproval of my choice of Queen. I just cannot believe that I had not seen it before this moment."

"I am afraid that I do not understand."

Aragorn sighed. "Arwen brought something to my attention that I had not realized. I did not know my court disapproved of her. I knew it would take some time but ... when they saw her I thought they loved her. She would never do them wrong or wish ill upon any."

"It is not most of the court," Faramir said with confidence. "I know many of those nobles and though drab and boring at times, they hold no ill will towards the Queen. They think she exotic and kind and truly a wonderful Queen. It has been long since a woman roamed these halls. Perhaps they are unused to such a thing."

"Perhaps," Aragorn agreed. "Or perhaps not. But I fear I know not what to do. I wish to tell you something, Faramir. Something I have not disclosed to anyone but a single being once before."

"I am honored, My Lord," Faramir replied with a polite nod of the head.

"I am not a man who fears many things. But there is one fear that weighs heavy on my soul and even more so now. I believe my wife has regretted her decision. I know what you will say and yes, I know it has been such a short time but I still have this suspicion that she yearns for her family and for the sea. I fear that I am unable to quench her thirst, to fill her hunger."

The King let his words settle, making sure he spoke correctly. "Today, my wife acted in a way that I did not recognize. She lost control of her anger, her emotions swept her away and there was naught that I could do. I fear she does not even wish to lay eyes on me at this moment for she seemed so angered and horrified at herself for being so emotional."

Faramir did not speak. His fears raced through his mind but he refused to voice them. Aragorn was usually not this open, at least towards him. The King acted full of regret and Faramir could only pinpoint that regret within his own uncertainties. For what did the King search? What did he see to gain from bearing his soul?

The King jumped as a heavy knock resounded on the door and just as his heart relaxed, the wooden door pushed open. A guard's helmet poked inside, the man barely visible. "Your Majesty, guests have arrived."

As soon as the words were spoken, a stout dwarf pushed into the room, a beaming smile on his face and a cheerful glint in his eye. "Aye, Ari, it has been a while."

Aragorn laughed and stood as Gimli and Legolas entered the room, the Elf far more reserved than his Dwarven friend.

Gimli extended a friendly hand, eagerly grasping the King's forearm in greeting before turning to the Steward and offering the same. Legolas, a bit more formal, bowed first to both Lords then extended his hand in greeting.

Aragorn smiled, all earlier evidence of his troubles now wiped from his expression. "It has been some time indeed, my Friends, though only a few months. Was Ithilien so boring to two such adventurous warriors?"

"No, indeed." Legolas responded with a soft smile. "There are always adventures to be had. But my coming is for the Lord Steward. I have news regarding his home and the reconstruction of Emyn Arnen and all the surrounding lands."

Faramir's eyes brightened at the concept. "I have been waiting for such news. In honesty, I have been wishing for the time I may return to Ithilien and oversee construction myself. Perhaps that time has finally arrived."

"Aye, my good friend," Aragorn said with a brotherly clasp of Faramir's shoulder. "You and your wife can retreat to Ithilien and be rid of these drab Gondorian courts."

A haunting sensation flooded Faramir at those words. The King was trying to be rid of them. Was Eowyn's presence too much for him to bear? Faramir never took himself for a jealous man even when his Father's love for him never equaled that to his brother. But jealousy surged through his entire body. He was used to being second in the hearts of many, but to be placed such in the eyes of his wife was heartbreaking. He felt that she loved him. The way she spoke to him would send chills down his spine. Her eyes would blaze with a smoldering passion that he had never seen. She loved him, did she not?

Gimli laughed, shaking his hands at his taller companions. "But we shall not talk such business now. It is time for some celebration. A reunion of friends. Come. Let us drink."

Aragorn stood. "Then we shall have drink brought to us." A tentative knock on his study door quieted the room. "Enter."

Slowly, the study door pushed open and a young guard no older than twenty stepped inside. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes, what is it?" Aragorn responded, lightheartedly. "Come come. Speak, My Boy."

Buryn swallowed nervously, trying to hold his composure. The news he brought was worse than before. "There has been trouble, My Lord." He forced out then raised his head high as the room quieted. "Some time ago, the Queen left her room in her riding gear."

The King's eyes flashed as he ceased his actions and turned full attention to his guard. "Go on. Leave nothing out."

Buryn continued. "She ordered us to tell no one and we would not disobey our Queen. The eldest guard at her door said that we shall obey the Queen and give her one hour before we inform you but he also sent a few guards after her, to accompany her. It has been three hours since she left."

Aragorn stepped closer, his expression darkening at the open-endedness of that last statement. "Why did you not come immediately or even after that one allotted hour? What of my wife?"

All color drained from Buryn's face. "One of those guards just returned. He says they were attacked."

Aragorn dropped everything in his hands, rushing to the door.

"He's in the House of Healing!" Buryn called after the King. "He's badly wounded." But none heard his last wounds as the study door closed behind those exiting.

* * *

The healers bustled silently. A man lay naked in the center of a cot with nothing but a thin sheet draped over his hips yet his legs still exposed, his side gauged open and an arrow protruded from his left thigh. He moaned restlessly, a wince permanently etched on his face.

"Move quickly," the elder healer rushed, moving to the bedside and placed his hands on the injured thigh. "From the wound, this arrow was barbed. We have to push it through."

"It seems far enough away from the bone," another healer clarified. "We must hold him down."

The injured soldier gritted his teeth. "I am a man. I fear no pain."

"I know, my Child," an elderly woman sighed from her place at his bedside. She continued to wipe a cool cloth across his brow, trying to sooth him and keep the fever down. "Here," she held out a cylindrical wooden stick, fairly thick. "Bite on this."

The soldier opened his mouth, welcoming the bit and he quickly sunk his teeth into the soft wood. His eyes watered with the pain and he offered a short nod, allotting his readiness.

Two other guards approached him, holding his shoulders down as another held onto his legs, keeping him pinned to the bed so he would not jerk at the pain. Another healer poured some clear water over the gauge in his side, washing away any dirt and grime then rubbed a soothing balm over the injured man's chest and abs.

The man hissed as a collection of crushed herbs were pressed into his side and his eyes fluttered at the burning sensation that coursed through his body. The healer then gathered a large linen bandage and held it against the deep slice in his flesh, trying to clot the blood.

"Are you ready?"

The injured man nodded, squeezing his eyes shot and he hissed with a slight cry of pain when the arrow was broken in half. Another moan slipped his lips as his breath increased, ragged and strained as he fought to remain conscious.

"Wait!"

The healers jostled at the command and when the impassioned King approached the bedside, none questioned him. "Your Majesty," the elder healer said respectfully. "We were just about to remove the arrow. His injuries are ..."

Aragorn ignored the words from the healer's mouth, his eyes focused on the man in the bed. "What of my wife?"

The soldier panted, his eyes swimming with stars as the dark realm of the unconscious wafted around him. He knew he had to answer the king. He had to tell him before it was too late.

"Answer me!" The King demanded, a crazed glint in his usually calm and comforting eyes and he grabbed that cylindrical wood and removed it from the man's mouth. "Speak!"

"They've taken her." The man forced out through the pain.

"My Lord, he will die if we do not hurry."

"As will me Queen," Aragorn spat at the healer. "This man will be fine. Tell me more."

The soldier swallowed hard. "She rode North. We followed her. To the forests. There was an ambush there. Waiting. It was as if they knew. They were expecting us. Too many ..." he hissed, squirming in the bed. He barely noted the presence of others, only knew his Steward and two others stood near the doorway. "We were only four and the Queen. She drew her sword. There were twenty. They killed our horses."

"Twenty what?" The King asked, impatient. "Twenty what? What were they? Orcs?"

"Orcs and men," the soldier forced out. "We were out numbered. My men died around me. And I saw them take her. She was calm." He let out a squeaked moan, shifting again as the pain seared down his leg. "I was already on the ground. And I was trying to push up ... to get to her ... to save her."

"Yes?"

The soldier licked his chapped bleeding lips. "And then she looked at me and ... and I heard her ... in my head. She told me not to move. She told me to take her horse and to go back to the city. To tell you. Then I saw her horse in the woods, waiting or ... something ... I don't know. But then she looked at her horse a moment then back to me. And I heard her in my head ... calming me. It ... I don't know."

Aragorn sighed, his eyes closed as he pressed a hand into his eyes.

"Then they were gone ... rode further North ... along the forest boarders." The soldier swallowed hard again, his eyes dilated and clouding over. "Her horse came from the woods then and came to me ... like it knew. He ... he got down to the ground and let me pull up onto his bare back. And then he ... was careful ... as he brought me back here."

Stilling his emotions, the King placed the bit back into the man's mouth. "Bite down."

The soldier obeyed and when the King turned his back, the healers resumed their task.

Aragorn bowed his head, walking to the door and he shuddered when the soldier let out a strangled cry. He closed his eyes against the sympathetic pain.

Gimli stepped forward, looking up expectantly into Aragorn's eyes. "Ari?"

Aragorn pressed his lips tightly together, not saying anything as his mind raced with possibilities.

"I'm going with you," Faramir pledged.

"No," Aragorn said, softly. "You have to stay and run the city."

"I'll write to my Uncle," Faramir said. "He is in Edoras with Eomer and will come as soon as he can though I know not of his business in Rohan. Oh, but Lothíriel is with him. I'll have to insist she stay behind. The roads are unsafe." When Aragorn still looked apprehensive, Faramir stepped closer, speaking in a much softer tone. "Were our roles reversed, I know you would do the same as I."

"A small party," Aragorn finally said. "We shall move quick and fast. We don't have much time. We leave at first light. Legolas, check the stables, be sure our horses are ready. Gimli, come with me. I'll write a quick letter to Imrahil and have a courier set out right away. Then we shall see my Captains to find the best of men to accompany us."

"What of me, My Lord?" Faramir asked.

Aragorn turned saddened eyes onto his friend. "Go. Make love to your wife. We ride at dawn."

(Please Review. I love to know what everyone thinks.)


	6. Farewell

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

Faramir sighed heavily, his feet dragging as he slowly approached the quarters he shared with his wife. Everything that day had happened so fast, he could not sort through the events.

The day began with council meetings that even brought sleep upon his politically savvy mind. And then the Queen interrupted and dragged the King off for a romantic afternoon. Faramir shivered at the remembrance of the embrace he shared with his wife in the market place and then all of a sudden the Queen was kidnapped. And now he had to prepare to ride to battle.

'Go ... Make love to your wife.'

Aragorn's words weighted heavily on Faramir's heart. Why would his King say such a thing? What interest did he have in the actions of the Steward and his wife? Lest the King wished it was he in Faramir's stead.

Faramir viciously shook his head. No, such a connotation was impossible. And highly improbable. The King loved Arwen. They had loved each other longer than Eowyn had been alive.

He slowed his pace as the doorway neared. Perhaps Eowyn truly wished him to be Aragorn. Perhaps she never desired the poetic romantic. Perhaps she yearned for the passionate warrior, the roughened ranger to whisk her away. A fire burned brightly in his usually calm and pensive eyes. Was it passion his young wife searched for? Was that why she held such reserve for him?

There were two answers to this question that Faramir had deduced. The first was that Eowyn did not love him and could not bring herself to be more than reserved in their moments of intimacy. That she still loved Aragorn and felt guilty acting in such brazen passion with a man with whom she did not love.

The second possibility was that she believed him incapable of such torrential emotion. She believed unrestrained passion did not exist within the calm demeanor of her weak-hearted husband.

He had to win his wife's affection. Faramir felt the surging pain of second-best searing through his heart. He would not yield her so easily. If a passionate lover was what she yearned for, then Faramir would deliver. He could not ride to his death at dawn, knowing he had failed to give his wife what she needed. Though he was not her Aragorn, Faramir would see to it that any other thoughts of their King be driven from her mind permanently that evening.

* * *

Eowyn smoothed the cotton shift down over her body then with a heavy sigh, she sat in the chair in front of the fire. A cushioned and comfortable chair, she relaxed into the warmth and the feel of fur from the carpet beneath her feet. A chill raced through the room that evening and she enjoyed the slight contrast between the cool breeze and the warm fire.

Gathering her hair, she picked up her brush and slowly began working the day's tangles from her long tresses. Her day had been unexpected though not all together unpleasant. Her conversation with the queen had perturbed her but Eowyn knew that the Queen was wrong.

Why would she think such a thing about Faramir? Eoywn did love him and after spending a long few hours debating in her mind, she knew without a doubt that she loved him. The marriage wasn't caging because Faramir did not imprison her. She was free to roam as she wished. She wasn't forced to be as the other ladies of court; she was free to be who she was.

Perhaps the Queen's words were not meant for her. Did Faramir really not love her? No, that was not possible. The way he acted and treated her was as if he were a lovesick fool. Though, he had always been so reserved. Perhaps the Queen spoke of their formal relationship. Though Eowyn interacted with Faramir on a very personal level, it was a bit reserved and even cold. Almost a game or a tease.

She had yet to open completely to Faramir, possibly not at all. She knew much about him. About his family, his brother, his past. And yet he knew nothing of her. Is that what the Queen spoke of?

A few flickers of realization burned inside Eowyn's head. Perhaps the cage was not marriage or Faramir or the courts of Gondor. Eowyn had erected a cage around herself, an impenetrable cage that none could break through.

Her hair free of tangles, Eowyn slowly lowered the brush, her eyes focusing on the crackling fire. Yes, that was what the Queen meant.

A loud bang startled her and Eowyn leapt to her feet, her eyes focusing on the door. "Faramir?" she asked gently. "Goodness, you frightened me."

Faramir said nothing, his gaze intense as he flicked the lock on the door. His head bowed slightly, his hair somewhat tangled and he gripped the hem of his tunic, tearing the offensive garment from his body.

Eoywn licked her lips, nervous at his actions and the unfamiliar expression on his face. She took a few steps backwards, unsure why she felt intimidated under his animalistic predatory scrutiny.

His eyes scanned her body, focusing intently on her slender waist and the ample hips upon which her entire centre rested. His gaze lingering his eyes slowly caressed up her body, along every line and every curve before falling on her lips.

She shifted her weight, her body tensing under his unwavering focus. She swallowed hard when he yanked his shirt from his breeches. A soft whimper escaped her lips as he dropped the shirt to the floor, his chest bared to her eyes. He truly was a beautiful man.

He watched her as she took another few steps away from him and though her body spoke of fear and uncertainty, her eyes screamed of lust and desire. That lust was not for him and he knew she could never see him with such passion. Was it Aragorn that she saw borne before her?

His eyes darkened as he took a step towards her and then one more. "You will think of no other but me," he said in a deep and husked voice and from the look of confusion that crossed her features, he knew she heard his words.

"My Lord?" she questioned, her eyes unsure. This was the only man to evoke such a feeling within her.

"No formalities," he said with restrained desire as he continued to approach her, circling as a predator before the pounce until stopping before her. He roughly grabbed her arms, jerking her towards him and in turn, forcing her eyes to meet his.

Eowyn refused to back away, her head tall as she gazed up into the face of her husband, a man she hardly recognized.

Faramir smiled at her pride and courage. "My name will be the only name you scream this night." And he muffled any response she would have, crushing his mouth to hers.

What did he mean? She had never called out another name. He was her only desire. She remained tense at first, unresponsive to his immediate need but as his hands quickly roamed and his tongue slipped into her mouth, she could not resist. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she clutched him close, her hips rocking into his in the most wanton display of seduction.

He growled into her mouth, his body eager as he matched and surpassed her passion. She had never responded so lustfully. She had never been so passionate even in their most intimate of moments. She truly must not be thinking of him.

Angered, furious, he ripped his mouth from hers only to trail his lips down her neck, forcing her to tilt her head. His lips traced her collar bone and then up to her jaw before traveling the distance to her ear.

Eowyn collapsed in his arms, her head lolled to the side as he nipped and bit at the sensitive flesh of her neck. He always knew her every weakness. "Ah, My Love," she moaned in a breathy whisper, her fingers digging into his scalp as she tugged at his head and hair.

Still her words were not enough. My Love? That endearment could be for any and Faramir easily convinced himself that her pleasure was not because of him. She wished for Aragorn, his heart knew. He could not bear it.

She gasped, her knees buckling as he tugged her even closer, her hips crashing against his with the gruffness of his actions. This was so unlike him, so out of his character and yet she adored it. She never knew he harbored such intense passions, never knew she could evoke such an uncontrollable fire.

Faramir trailed his lips up to her ear, placing a long and lavishing kiss on the shell. She shivered when he bit on her earlobe, tugging a moment before pulling back from her, panting onto her lips. He suppressed a growl when she ran her hands down his back and he forced open his eyes to look at her. He'd know for certain if he just looked in her eyes.

Her eyes most certainly must be deceiving.

He didn't respond at first, his expression a mask of confusion and uncertainty. He was correct about her eyes for they displayed every emotion from within her soul. But if Faramir didn't know better, he could see love and love for him. Her eyes were glassed and calm yet still burning with ignited passion as she gazed deeply into his eyes.

Eowyn smiled, brushing her finger across his cheek before tucking a few stray strands of deep midnight black hair behind his ears. His hair always thrilled her so. Unlike the golden locks of the people of Rohan, Faramir was dark as night. His eyes, his hair, his body slightly tanned from his life as a warrior and he possessed the scars to prove every battle.

He waited for words. He wished to hear her voice, hear her whisper his name or speak of any of the love that he could see. The love and desire reflected in her eyes stirred at his core and he released a heavy breath, his body shuddering with passion. He could not wait for her. He cared not who she thought of or who she ever would.

He told her once that he would love her if she were the blissful Queen of Gondor. He had betrayed her by not keeping to his words. Not this night. Not any other night. He was a fool for denying her love. If she could not feel love from the man for whom she yearned, then she would feel the purest love and desire from him. He would show her his truest desire. He would show her the extent of his passions and no longer rein them.

Eowyn shuddered as her husband tightened his arms, his hands splayed across her back.

"I need you, My Love," he moaned, his eyes falling shut. "I need you tonight."

She asked no questions when his mouth descended upon hers.

* * *

Aragorn pressed his ring into the melted wax, sealing the letter closed. "Make great haste to Edoras." He commanded, handing the letter to the courier before him.

"Your Majesty," The courier respond, bowing his head in respect before taking the letter.

"Deliver this to the hands of Prince Imrahil directly. Inform the King of Rohan that I had not the time to write to him separately, as we are preparing to ride. The Prince will inform him of everything he need know."

"Majesty," The courier bowed again before quickly leaving.

When the door closed, Aragorn was left alone in his study. He sighed, his eyes focused on the grain of his wooden desk, the fire crackling from its place to the side. The flames illuminated the various shadows of the room, casting an ethereal glow over the regal furnishings.

Leaning back in his comfortable desk chair, Aragorn tilted his head back, staring up at the high stone ceiling. Sleep would not grace him that evening and he did not seek it. How could he rest while his wife ...

His thoughts refused to finish. He would not think of her in peril, in danger, in pain even though that was probably her condition. It was his fault.

He failed to serve his wife, his love as she deserved to be. He failed to see to her needs, failed to see her distress. And because of his blindness, she was gone. Tears threatened his eyes but he refused to let them fall.

Blinking furiously, he willed his body to ease, his emotions to still. His attempts futile, he allowed his eyes to fall close and his breathing slowed. Focusing on his breathing, his mind cleared, his heart ceased to race.

_His world faded into white, his body light and afloat and then the comforting white turned to midnight black. Filled with a chill, he shivered as the blackness engulfed him and soon the blackness lightened._

_He couldn't open his eyes, so weary and tired from the day and he sunk back into the comforting velvet covered chair. He inhaled a deep breath, the sweet fragrance of lilac and lavender filling his lungs mixed with the fresh moisture of dew, the musk of soil and the crispness of running water._

_A soft voice echoed through his head and he couldn't help but smile at the sound._

"_I am asleep," he breathed in response._

_There was no answer to his words but a strange sense of peace filled his weary heart. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his eyes fluttered. He could not see everything but the silhouette of a woman, he deciphered. _

"_Arwen," he sighed, his eyes falling closed again as he realized where he was. "This is a dream."_

_He tensed when moist soft lips hovered over his, her breath soft and warm as she spoke in whispered tones. "Then it is a good dream."_

_His breath escaped him as her lips met his and his body sank into the couch upon which he lay - his energy drained, his soul complete in that one moment. Oh, how he loved her._

_She smiled, her breath dancing across his lips. "We have been here before, Estel."_

_He chuckled against her mouth, his one hand reaching up to rest on her cheek. "Aye we have, Love. Many times. But ..."_

"_Shh," she silenced him, pressing a delicate finger to his lips. "Silence, Melda, My Beloved. Do not speak."_

"_What would you have of me?"_

"_Peace, Estel," she answered in hushed words then stood._

_He forced his eyes open, watching as she walked away from him, looking out the balcony at the lush forest growth. The deep greens blended with the grey and brown, the cycle of life and death ever present in its existence. He did not like it._

"_I would not have you worry."_

_Slowly, Aragorn pushed to his feet, walking to stand at her side. Wrapping a protective arm around her waist, he tugged her close, pressing his forehead to hers. "How do you expect me not to worry? For the first time in my life ... I am lost."_

"_You are not lost, Estel."_

"_I am," he insisted. "I failed you. And now I ... I don't know where you are or where to go or what to do or ..."_

"_Estel," she breathed, her voice floating on the wind as she caressed his cheek with a most delicate touch. "You know what it does to me to visit you like this."_

_Aragorn nodded. Though he wished she did not use so much of her strength to visit him, he was selfish. He would not wish her anywhere but in his arms, in his mind._

"_I do not have much time. I am tired and weary." She sighed, nuzzling him as she enjoyed his touch. "I just wanted to see you, My Estel." She cupped his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks and along his scruffy jaw. "One last time."_

_His eyes flew open, his shoulders tense and he viciously shook his head. "No." He gripped her roughly, his large hands wrapping around her upper arms. "No, you will not speak like that. I order you. As your King, I order you to stay alive. You will not leave me yet, Arwen. I have fought too hard. We have endured too much."_

_Arwen wobbled slightly, her body already showing signs of weakness. "I know not where they take me. I barely saw their faces. I know we travel North, Estel."_

"_Do you recognize anything?"_

"_I am blindfolded and bound. Estel, I see nothing." She brushed her fingertips along his brow. "Do not come for me."_

"_What?"_

"_I beg of you, Love," she pleaded, her eyes shining with tears. "Do not risk your life. You have risked far too much to be where you are. Your destiny is with your throne and your people. You know this."_

"_I will not leave you." Aragorn pledged. "You are all I have ever desired. And if you think now that I finally have you that I will let you go ..."_

"_Your life ..." Arwen slowly shook her head, her one finger pressed to his lips to silence him. "Your life is not worth this risk. I feel amiss. All will not end well if you follow."_

"_Do not think for one moment that I would sacrifice you ..."_

"_Estel." She silenced him, her hand covering his mouth to cease his words._

"_No," He commanded, his large hand gently wrapping around her wrist as he pulled her hand from his lips. "I will come for you."_

_  
Arwen sighed, a small smile pulling at her lips as she met his eyes. "I know."_

_Aragorn cupped her face in his hands. "I will not rest until you are safe in my arms again."_

_The energy flowed from her body, causing her to sag against him, her head against his as she released an airy breath. "Estel, I'm weary."_

"_Do not lose hope, My Love," he begged of her before sealing their lips, his kiss passionate and full of longing love. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his body, encasing her in the safety he offered._

_She responded to him, her kiss equal, her one hand on the back of his head as the other clutched at his arm. Breathless, the kiss broke and she opened her eyes to look upon him. "Our last. Forgive me."_

"_No!" Aragorn cried as she faded, the darkness encasing him again._

His eyes flew open as he looked hurriedly around the room. In his study. In his chair. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Reaching up, he touched his lips, noting how sensitive they were.

_Forgive me_

Aragorn startled, leaping to his feet as the words echoed on the wind, soft and billowing through the night. His heart ached.

* * *

Faramir tightened his one arm, pulling his slumbering wife even closer. She lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder, a hand placed at the center of his chest, her other arm draped over his hips. Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, he released a sigh.

Sleep would not come to him.

Guilt flooded his mind over the previous hours. He had viciously taken his wife in a heated passion that had never resided within him, at least not to his knowledge. Such raw unabated need filled his every fiber and he released it all in her that night.

How could he have been so foolish, so careless? How could he have lost such control? Claiming his wife as if she were a tavern wench, simply for the purpose of release. But that was not it. It was not simply release for him.

Turning his eyes upon the woman in his arms, Faramir licked his lips. She smiled. She was smiling in her sleep, a placated satisfied expression on her beautiful face. He wondered if she dreamed of Aragorn.

Eowyn snuggled closer, her fingers brushing through the tuffs of hair on his chest, her palm soft and smooth as she caressed him. Of course she dreamed of Aragorn. No other man could put that smile on her face.

He closed his eyes a moment, unable to watch his wife in such blissful slumber. Forcing his gaze to the window, he sighed as the night slowly began to brighten. It would be dawn soon.

Untangling himself from his wife's embrace, Faramir slipped out of the bed and to the out of the room, where his armor lay in a neat pile.

* * *

Eowyn could not keep the smile off her face. In the realm between sleep and awake, her mind drifted to the evening events. Any other woman would blush thinking about the occurrences between she and her husband but not a Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She never knew such passions resided within her, much less her husband. He had ignited the most primal of needs, the most animalist desires. She never knew want until she met Faramir.

That was the word. Want. Was it truly possible to want a man so much? Eowyn shivered at the remembrance. She had never felt such pleasure, such release. His beautiful body, his warm roaming hands and those thick pouting lips, her breath caught just thinking about him.

Oh, how she adored his mouth. His kisses blazed fires within her core, her knees weakened from merely the thought of their touch. His sweet mouth had left a warm wet trail along her body, his lips claiming and possessing every inch they touched. His wandering hands warming every part, his body hot and heavy, his skin slicked with their exertion.

Faramir was an attentive lover, always seeing to her needs and pleasures but never before had she been overwhelmed. That evening he had seen to her pleasure again with ardent vigor. His hands and mouth combining to see she reached her peak not once but twice and then, to her surprise, a third time.

He kissed her with passionate need as his hands roamed down her body, finding her and she screamed into his open mouth. He had never touched her with such urgency; she had never felt the rush of pleasure overwhelm her senses.

His kiss never ending, his mouth muffled her cry of pleasure as the first wave washed through her. He did not give her time to recover, his lips blazing a trail down her body and she gasped, arching off the bed when his mouth took the place of his hands.

Eowyn shivered at the memory, cuddling closer to her husband's warm body. He'd never kissed her there before and the pleasures had quickly taken her again, her body still quivering from its last release, she had found her peak again.

She remembered panting helplessly as he moved up her body, his mouth sealing to hers. He tasted strange, of a different musk and soon she realized she tasted herself on his lips. Again, he gave her no chance to recover as he drove into her and moved relentlessly.

Eowyn could barely react to him, so spent from her two previous pleasures. But she responded as eagerly as she could. She wanted nothing more than to feel him so perfectly, so pleasantly. He perched above her, balanced on his arms so as not to crush her, his eyes open and dark, dripping with lust.

Shuddering with desire, she shifted her body, wantonly wrapping her legs around his waist, a bold display she had never done. He growled at her, his eyes aflame as his lust overpowered them both.

Gasping and rocking with his motions, Eowyn reached up and grabbed his head, tugging him to her. She arched up, her lips seeking his, but his movements so harsh, she had not the strength and was tossed back onto the bed.

Faramir clenched his teeth, her fingers clawing down his chest and he watched as her pleasure rose, her breaths coming in short pants, her body undulating and rocking perfectly with his. His body quivered, yearning for the most powerful of release, but he refused to relent. He would see her pleasure one more time.

Eowyn gripped his arms, her nails digging into his flesh as the coil inside wound tight. He watched as her pleasure neared and her eyes dimmed one last time before he captured her mouth, swallowing her unyielding cry. Her body twitched and shuddered in rapture.

His control broke.

She had never before felt such bliss, such splendid bliss. She continued to kiss him as his body sagged against her, his weight released as well as his tension and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him deeper still.

Eowyn smiled at the memory and squirmed closer to her husband. Her hand caressed his chest with slow languid circles, her fingers teasing and tangling in the hair before moving down to his abdomen.

Her thoughts filled with pleasures. How beautiful and wonderful a husband was he.

She felt him move, untangling himself from her embrace and the sudden cold enveloped her as he slipped out of the bed. But she didn't want to open her eyes. Opting for the warmth of her bed, Eowyn tugged the covers back up around her and rolled over onto his side of the bed. She sighed as his warmth pooled through her and with her head on his pillow, his familiar male scent filled her lungs.

Soft walking and clacking forced her to stir and she opened her eyes. Adjusting to the sudden light in the room, she glanced over her shoulder. The fire alight and blazing, she shifted, rolling onto her other side. Why did Faramir light the fire?

He stood before the fire, unclothed. Her breath caught high in her throat, her eyes wide as she took in every inch of her husband's lithe form. "Béma, you are a beautiful man," she breathed.

He did not hear her. Faramir reached for his breeches, pulling them up over his slender hips before reaching for a white cotton shirt.

Eowyn smiled, snuggling into the mattress as she watched her husband walk out of the room. When he didn't return, she sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest. "Faramir?"

The door to their chambers opened.

Eowyn stood at the sight of her husband in full armor, his sword hanging from his waist. Quickly wrapping the sheet around her body, she approached him with worried eyes. "Faramir, what is the meaning of this?"

He stood tall and aloof, his eyes not leaving hers though his manner was cold.

She instantly felt the chill and quickly averted her eyes a moment to gather herself.

"I must leave," he finally said with little emotion. "I ride with Aragorn at dawn."

Eowyn turned his eyes to the window, the beginning rays of the morning sun peeking over the hills and fluttering into the room.

"Arwen was kidnapped. We don't know who or where or ..." he sighed. "I ride with him."

She met his gaze. "I ride with you."

"No," he responded quickly with a heated gaze and he took a step towards her.

Unsure if she heard him, she cocked her head. "What?"

"I said, no." He repeated then sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "It is not your place."

Her eyes widened, her shoulders square. "Not my place?" She tilted her chin up, her head high and proud. "Perhaps you do not remember, My Lord, but as you lay in the House of Healing, I slew the Witch-King of Angmar. Do you doubt my ability?"

"No, I doubt fate." He snapped, stepping to her, so close he could see the flecks of grey in her eyes. "Eowyn," he hooked a single finger under her chin. "I do not doubt your training or your ability. I believe you were destined to earn glory and honor and your deeds will be in song till the end of days. But I would not have you tempt fate. You have no need to prove your valor any longer."

She pressed her thin lips tightly together. "And you would have me stay behind, the ever doting wife. The proper Gondorian woman. Is that what you wish? You want me to duck my head and avert my eyes. You would have me sit in the gardens to embroider and knit. You would have me learn to ride side-saddle and dress in intricate elaborate gowns."

"Silence, woman."

"Do my words sting you, My Lord?" she questioned him, sarcasm lacing her voice. "Perhaps it is the truth in their statement. Nay, you are not the man I thought you were."

"That is where you are wrong." He accused, his head high. "I am the man you thought I was. I simply am not the man you wish me to be."

Her brow furrowed, her tension diminished.

Faramir reached up with a shaking hand, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Would I were he ..." he sighed, leaning in to press his lips to her forehead. He had to close his eyes at the emotion he felt.

Eowyn shivered at the feel of his lips, her mind racing when he pulled back to look in her eyes. She forced her gaze to meet his, their eyes locking.

He smiled sadly at her utter confusion. But was it really confusion? Did she truly believe that he did not know? Leaning down, his mouth covered hers in the softest most sensual kiss. "Perhaps, if I return ..." he trailed off as he kissed her again.

She quickly shook her head. "If? Faramir ..."

He turned from her, walking to the door.

"Faramir," she called, rushing after him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wait, please."

He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder.

"If? Would you were who?" She walked in front of him, her eyes meeting his. "My Lord, I do not understand. You speak in riddles."

"There is no riddle, My Lady," he responded. "You know your heart. And you know mine." No words left, he stepped around her and left.

(I know it has been long since my update, but school has kept me so busy. I promise to keep updating, I just need time. So here was a nice long chapter. I know this is listed under Aragorn/Arwen, however their will be multiple couples playing up to equal importance. But Aragorn/Arwen are still the main focus, as one could see from the main conflict. Review me and let me know what you think.)


	7. Eoh

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

"Father,"

Prince Imrahil shook his head, his attention not diverted from his task. He placed another folded tunic into his saddlebag. "I've made my decision, Lothiriel. You will stay here while Elphir and I ride for Minas Tirith."

Insistent, Lothiriel stepped forward, standing next to her father. "I would be useful by your side. Father, I can help you rule while the King is gone."

"I do not argue with you on that account," he responded. "But the road to Minas Tirith is unsafe and Elessar's letter does nothing to quell my fear. I will not have your life risked in order to accompany me. No, you will stay in Edoras until I feel the roads are safe."

"Father."

"Lothy, stop." Imrahil ordered, turning to face his daughter. His eyes left no room for argument and his stern gaze locked. "I told you, No. I cannot ride with great haste, worrying about you."

She clenched her jaw, her body tense. "I can take care of myself."

He sighed, his palm cupping her cheek. His gaze softened as his roughened palm contrasted against her smooth skin. "And that is what frightens me." He chuckled softly to himself, his eyes searching her face. "So like your mother."

The anger fled from her body, a sorrow filling her at his words.

Imrahil felt a small smile tugging at his lips. Her hair dark as midnight yet when hit by the perfect light, shimmered with deep red highlights. Her eyes green as the sea and just as turbulent, and when standing close, flecks of grey, gold, and blue glittered brilliantly. Her skin silken, a light tanned complexion, one only received from years in the sun. "So beautiful," he said, softly. "I couldn't bear to live if something happened to you when I could have stopped it. And no matter what the odds, if I were near, I would blame myself. Please, Lothy, stay here and let an old man's heart rest at ease."

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she willed the tremors in her body to cease. She nodded quickly, licking her lips so she could speak. "Of course, Father. I ... I'll stay here."

"Thank you," he sighed in relief, pulling her against him for a sound embrace. His cheek pressed to hers, he closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of his only daughter in his arms. "You do not know how happy this makes me."

She laughed when he eased her back, his hands on her shoulders so he could look in her eyes.

"And Eomer isn't one of those bad sorts," he continued with a smile.

"No, he's not," she responded, her smile bright.

Imrahil shrugged slightly, mirth dancing in his calm eyes. "And from what I've heard of the ladies of the court, he is quite a handsome man."

Lothiriel rolled her eyes. "Father." When her father said nothing, she turned from him, averting her attention to an interesting pattern on the stone wall. "Eomer King is your good friend and I never looked upon your friends with anything more than proper respect and courtesy."

He chuckled, his brow raised with curiosity. "Of course, my Little Swan, I know this. I am also not blind to the type of men you find attractive."

Alerted, she turned back to her father, a look of horror and guilt on her face. "Father."

"Now now," he calmed her, returning his attention to his bags. "I may be your father but I am still a man. I know the kinds of men that attract you, My Dear. You know as a princess, I cannot allow you to marry any sailor in my fleet. He must be a man of standing and ..."

"And honor," Lothiriel continued for him. "Yes, Father, I know. I have heard this monologue many times. But that was four years ago. I have grown since then and am not the flighty sixteen year old looking for attention."

"No, you are not," he replied, looking at his daughter again. "Now you are a beautiful woman who does not need to try to get the attention of suitors."

"Father."

"Listen to me," he said, his eyes soft despite his brisk tone. "I will not be around forever. I ..."

"Wish to marry me off?" she snapped back at him. "Wish to see me wed to a prime alliance with Gondor. Is that what Eomer is to you?"

"No," he responded gently. "Eomer is a dear friend, a man who I see as my son. If not for him, I may not be standing here this day." Closing the distance between them, Imrahil reached out, cupping his daughter's face in his hands. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes closed as he spoke. "He is a good man, Lothy. A very good man."

"I know he is, Father," she said, softly.

Imrahil kissed her brow. "My Beautiful Swan. Go now. There is much I must do before I leave on the morrow."

Lothiriel nodded, leaving her father without a word. She hated when he spoke of his mortality. His words simply reminded her of her own mortality and that of her mother.

Her mother

Not a day passed where Lothiriel did not think of her mother. She knew her, if but a little. It had been ten years since her mother died and with each passing year, the memories faded just a little bit more. No longer could she remember the sound of her voice, the feel of her embrace.

A tear slipped from Lothiriel's eye. And that memory was rekindled not one month ago when her mare had fallen ill and died in the stables of Edoras. The mare, a beautiful speckled grey, had been her mother's. Imrahil had bestowed the mare upon his daughter when her mother passed and Lothiriel cherished the creature.

Lothiriel smiled softly, remembering the past years with her treasured horse. She remembered being very young and her mother would lift her onto the mare, holding her in front as they galloped down the beach. Her mother's secure arms held her in place as they both sat astride racing through the sand, the crisp sea air whipping through her hair.

She sighed as the memories flooded her and she found herself in the stables, standing before the stall that once belonged to her beloved mare. Willing the tears to stay back, she leaned forward, resting her arms against the wooden gate, her eyes blankly staring at the fresh bed of hay.

And nestled in the safe embrace of her mother, they would run the precious horse back to their home. Father would stand on the beach, waiting for them. She could remember smiling at the sight of him, his graying hair blowing with the sea breeze, everything about him relaxed and happy. His smile bright, his eyes soft, he took a few steps closer.

Lothiriel would giggle, leaping off the horse and into her father's awaiting arms. He would chuckle deeply, hugging her close, spinning her in the air before placing a kiss on her brow. She loved him so.

And then he would place her on her feet, letting her race towards her brothers and their games in the surf, pouncing upon Amrothos and tackling her favored brother into the waves.

But one time, she had been proud, tackling not one but two brothers at once. Standing tall and dripping wet, she looked to her parents.

Imrahil stood next to that precious mare, his hand resting on the horse's neck as he gazed up at the woman still perched in the saddle. He laughed at something she said, his gaze adoring when he placed his other hand on her thigh, slowly moving his hand up.

Her mother smiled and leaned down, stretching her neck and softly kissed her husband's mouth. He responded with equal tenderness, his smile pulling up to his eyes when she sat back and he reached up, helping her down off her mount.

Lothiriel remembered the joy on her father's face as he held his wife, her mother. He said something again, sealing their lips another time and when the kiss ended, they paused, standing close and locked in each others' arms. As they spoke in hushed whispers, her mother had pulled from his embrace, racing towards the water. Imrahil chased after her.

Her mother laughed.

Lothiriel smiled. She could remember her mother's laugh, melodic and a little deep, rich and full. She remembered the way her parents' would gaze at each other when they thought none were looking, the way her father still spoke so reverently about the only woman to have claimed his heart so completely.

She wished to find a love like that, a love so powerful that even death brought no end. She wished for a love of passion and still purity. Complete and total. She wished to experience the same love her parent's had once possessed before it was wrenched away.

"It seems that I always find you in here."

Lothiriel jumped at the deep voice, though his tone soft, he still startled her. Placing a hand on her chest to still her racing heart, she released a sigh as her eyes met those of the man standing at the stable door. "My Lord, you frightened me."

"Many apologies, my Lady," Eomer responded with a slight bow of the head. "I did not mean to startle you so."

"I'm afraid the fault is mine," she said, turning away from him and from the stall. "I should not be wandering your home so freely. Forgive me."

"There is naught to forgive," he stated, raising a single hand to stop her. "My home is yours for as long as you are here. I apologize for breaking you of your reverie."

A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "It seems all we can ever do is apologize, your Majesty."

Eomer laughed, his voice rich and full of mirth. "Aye, indeed. But please, do not call me such a title. I fear I am still unused to it and it unnerves me."

"What would you have me call you, Horse-master?"

He took a few steps towards her, his smile bright when she did not step away. "By my name would be lovely."

"Alright, Eomer King, I shall call you such. But only should you address me the same way."

Eomer bowed graciously. "So be your wish, Eomer King."

Lothiriel laughed. "You have bested me in wit, my Lord."

"It is good to see you smile, my Lady." He said softly. "Too long has sadness clouded great beauty within these halls. My sister had never smiled after Grima Wormtongue poisoned our king and only after meeting Faramir, did her smile return. I have since pledged that no beauty will ever find cause to frown in the Golden Hall. Pray tell me, what troubles you so? I wish to make any amends within my power to see you at ease."

"I am eased by your words, My Lord, but I fear that what sorrows me is not of this hall." She sighed, her gaze falling back into the empty stall. "I was thinking of my beloved Faun."

"Ah yes," Eomer said, gently, standing next to her and leaning on the stall door. "The mare you arrived on. I am sorry for you loss. We did everything we could."

"I know."

He bowed his head. "Thus proves we are not master of the horses. I spent two nights in these stables, trying everything I had learned and it proved failure."

Her eyes widened at his words. "I did not know this. You stayed in these stables to help my horse."

Eomer cocked his head then averted his eyes back into the stall. "I did it for you, My Lady."

A small gasp slipped from her lips, and she praised the Valar that he was not looking at her.

"I saw how much you loved that mare," he continued, unheeding to any reaction she would have had. "It reminded me of the way we Rohirrim love our horses. I could not bear to think if something were to happen to Firefoot."

At his name, the proud deep brown stallion tossed his head, stamping the ground a few times.

Eomer chuckled, walking over to his treasured mount. "Yes, my Friend. You are most important to me." He smiled, reaching out to rub the star on the horse's head and Firefoot huffed appreciatively, nudging his master with his big head. "He seems to want me to stand next to you again."

Lothiriel smiled, approaching the 20 hand high stallion with a look of awe. "He's magnificent." She sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I never thought to see such a fantastic creature."

Firefoot tossed his head again.

"Careful," Eomer joked. "He understands you and I'm afraid I can't do with his ego getting any bigger. I can't have my steed's ego bigger than my own." He watched as she came even closer. "He's usually not fond of strangers."

"It's ok," she said with confidence.

Eomer wrinkled his brow when a string of Elvish slipped from her lips. He couldn't understand her as his Elvish was quite poor except for a few words here and there. But his confusion quickly turned to shock when Firefoot stretched his neck over the stall door and nuzzled the petite princess.

Lothiriel laughed, stroking the horse's head then rubbing his neck. She only shook her head when the big stallion started nipping at her dress. "Oh, I see how it is. You only came here for the apple." That said, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the apple, offering it to the hearty beast.

Firefoot took the apple without hesitation and he snorted his approval.

She rubbed his head again. "Yes, you are beautiful." And that said, she pressed a kiss to the horse's muzzle before turning back to Eomer. "You were saying, My Lord."

Laughing heartily, Eomer approached the two, landing a heavy hand on his once faithful steed's neck. "Traitor, you. Is that how it is to be whenever a pretty filly bats an eye?"

Lothiriel couldn't help but blush at his words but she looked away and back to the empty stall. She sighed.

Eomer's smile faded as he watched her again.

She smiled, sadly. "I put the apple there this morning. I forgot again that she would not be here to greet me."

"Faun ... is that an Elvish name?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It means 'cloud'. I remember when I first saw her. My father had gifted her to my mother and I was maybe seven years old. My mother asked me what I would name her. I had just begun taking Elvish lessons and Faun ... cloud ... it was my favorite word. Sometimes, my Mother and I would lie on the beach, staring up at the sky. She pointed up and asked me, 'Do you know what those are, my little swan?' I, of course, knew they were clouds and said such."

Eomer smiled. "And since the mare resembled the color of spring clouds, the name was only fitting. Faun ... such a beautiful name. It seems Dol Amroth is only filled with beautiful things."

Lothiriel nodded, a soft smile on her face. "The sea is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. So unpredictable and vicious yet just as capable as being calm and still. The color swirls and changes with its mood, sometimes black as night or deep green as a lush forest, or as blue as the summer sky. There's something passionate about it, something ..." she trailed off, ducking her head to gather herself. The sorrow dispelled from her face as she met his eyes, offering him a bright smile. "Have you ever seen the sea, Eomer King?"

He shook his head, his eyes unwavering. "Never, My Lady. Though if it is even a percentage of the beauty I have witnessed from Dol Amroth, I fear I may die in bliss."

She met his eyes a moment, filled with confusion and then she quickly ducked her head, her cheeks flushing a brilliant shade of crimson. "I did not know you were a poet, My Lord."

It was his turn to flush and he averted his eyes, letting out a nervous laughter. "Strange thing is that I am not." He licked his lips, his thoughts wandering over the last few weeks and the many sleepless nights he spent dreaming of saying these words to her. And now he'd been caught and all other words escaped him. Why did his palms sweat so when she was near? Why did his heart race? Why did the air hang thick?

"My Lord?"

Eomer shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts and he forced a smile. "Princess, I have something for you."

She furrowed her brow, looking at him with confusion and uncertainty. "A gift? For me?"

"Yes," he answered with a nod and motioned to the other end of the stables. "Come with me." He offered his arm which she gladly took and he walked slowly. "I know how much you loved Faun and there is little if nothing Rohan can do to make up for such a loss. Your father is a good friend of mine and I care for him deeply, in turn his family ... including you, Lothiriel."

Her breath caught high in her throat when he stopped, taking her hands in his. She met his eyes, her knees weakening at the intensity. So clear, so blue, so honest, she could see so deeply into his heart. She spent a month in the halls of Meduseld and somehow, his eyes had eluded her. By the Valar, she couldn't look away.

"Let me offer you what is dearest to my heart," he continued. "Let me make amends for the sorrow you have felt."

Lothiriel could not avert her eyes. Why only now did she notice how handsome he was? His dark blonde mane hung long, far longer than any Gondorian nobleman, and brushed well below his shoulder blades. His brow wide as well as his cheeks, his nose proud and centered perfectly. His jaw strongly angled and broad, his cleft chin so adorable, she wanted to press her finger against that chin. A rough stubble covered his cheeks, his jaw, his chin coated with a slightly fuller yet still tamed beard. His thick lips, pink and moist, his upper lip teased with scruff and why did she have the sudden urge to kiss him?

" ... and I wish you would accept."

She shook her head, her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, Eomer, I ... I didn't hear a word you said." She ducked her head, embarrassed. "It's terribly rude of me."

He smiled, reaching out to touch her cheek, his hand shaking as his fingers brushed her smooth skin. "All is forgiven. I fear that many times I find my mind wanders. But here. Let me show you what I mean."

Lothiriel willed the blush to fade from her cheeks as she followed him a little further through the stables. She stumbled when he suddenly stopped and her eyes searched the area and then him.

Eomer turned to face her, a nervous flicker in his eyes. "I wish to present you that which is most dear to Rohan."

Her gaze followed the motion of his hand, and her brow furrowed at the three stalls before her.

"Three horses, My Lady, and the choice is yours." He stepped forward. "This is Wingfoot, a three year old Stallion. This is Beorg, a four year old gelding. And this is Hæglfaru, a two and a half year old mare."

Still confused, she licked her lips. "They are all charming, Eomer, but ..."

When she trailed off, he chuckled shyly. "I wish to bestow upon you a gift. My Lady ... choose one to your liking." When her eyes widened and she did not respond, he continued. "You need not make a decision right away. You may ride them and spend time with them ... and you may choose one or all of them for your own."

"Oh, Eomer," she sighed.

He shuddered at her voice, his mind wandering and racing to other activities, where she would sigh his name the same way. He quickly dismissed such treasonous thoughts.

"They are beautiful," she said, just as softly. "But I couldn't accept such a gift."

"Please," he responded, taking her hand in his. "Please, do." He led her to the first stall and Wingfoot shook his head. His coat chestnut brown, his ears, muzzle and mane black. White tufts along his hooves and deep black yet mischievous eyes. "Wingfoot, here, was sired by Firefoot. I'm very picky about which horses I keep as stallions and which are castrated. I want my stock strong and Wingfoot is the fastest horse in the Mark. His mother is over there."

Lothiriel followed his gaze, spotting a smaller black mare a few stalls down. "She belongs to one of my advisors, Gamling." He continued. "Have you met Gamling? He's a fine man. I trust him with my life. Anyway, her name is Night. He let his youngest daughter name her and a lovely name it is. Night is one of the fastest horses in the Mark and that with Firefoot, the greatest war horse ... Wingfoot is quite impressive."

Eomer smiled. "He's not as big as Firefoot but he's faster and a bit more nimble on his feet. Firefoot tends to just plow through whatever is in his way. Wingfoot would dance around it, never missing a step. He's such a fantastic horse."

Firefoot snorted his disapproval and Eomer laughed. "You are fantastic too, my friend," he called.

"He's lovely," Lothiriel said. "But do you not think he's a little big for me?"

A roguish smile spread across his face. "No stallion is ever too big if you know how to ride him." He brushed passed her to the next stall.

Lothiriel's eyes widened, her gaze flying to him but she could not see his expression, his back already turned. She had been naïve to his blatant flattery before this moment but not for reasons of being unworldly. On the contrary, she understood completely and his innuendo, to any other noble woman of Gondor, would have been appalling.

"Ah, Beorg, my friend," Eomer sighed, approaching the gelding. He made sure the mischief fled from his expression. Though he wanted to test her, he did not wish to be obvious.

"He's beautiful too, My Lord," Lothiriel said softly. Beorg stood proud, his coat black with large patches of white on his back , a white star on his head and more white on his legs. The horse tossed his head, his mane whirling with the movement.

Eomer laughed.

"What find you so amusing, Eomer King?"

He only shook his head, reaching out to pat the great beast's neck. "Beorg does everything in his power to hold attention. It is as if he believes he is the most beautiful horse alive and wishes everyone to agree."

She chuckled softly, approaching the gelding with a sweet smile. "Beorg, you are a beautiful creature."

The horse whinnied its approval and stepped closer to the stall door, sticking his head over the side. He reached out, nuzzling against Lothiriel's outstretched hand.

"Another sired by Firefoot," Eomer said, proudly. "His coloring did surprise me, since he looks nothing like Firefoot. His mother is an all black mare from the Westfold. She's over there. Beautiful isn't she?"

Lothrirel nodded. "She is. You seem to have a lot of black horses. I don't believe I've seen so many before."

"They are common in the Westfold," Eomer answered. "Her name is Gast."

"Ghost."

He smiled at her words. "I didn't know you spoke my language."

"Only a little," she responded, sheepishly, a slight blush rising to her cheeks. "Just a few words here and there. A couple of our stable boys were from Rohan and they came to us when ... when ..."

"When my Uncle fell under Sauron's spell?" He continued for her. "Though the memory is still fresh in my mind, I do know that these things happened."

"Aye," she said. "But they often spoke in your tongue. After a while, I learned a few words. One of the boys always spoke of a ghost in the stables." She smiled. "To this day, he still says as much, but I never thought anything of it. Anyway, that's how I know what 'gast' means."

His smile brightened, his gaze tender as she spoke and when she stopped, he continued to gaze at her. She met his eyes, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He did not wish her to be uncomfortable. Ever.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," she said, meekly. "I speak too much. I ..."

"Nay, Lothiriel." He interrupted, raising a hand to silence her.

She shivered as her name rolled off his tongue. So soft and sweet, his voice deep and husked. Her stomach churned, her heart racing. She bowed her head.

But he would have none of it. He reached out, tilting her chin up. He wished to see her eyes. So beautiful. "You never need to censor your thoughts from me. Never. I wish you to speak as free as the wind. Like I said, I saw what caging did to my sister. I would never see a woman feel caged in my presence in any way."

Her flush deepened and she turned her attention back to Gast. "Why did you name her such?"

"I'm not sure. That was her name when she arrived in my stables. And this ... oh, this is my precious pride. Isn't she magnificent?"

Lothiriel walked to the next stall, her eyes on the white mare. Her mane and tale gray, more gray spots scattering along her body, neck and head. She didn't react to the company outside her stall at first, merely turned her head to acknowledge their presence.

Eomer could not help but smile. "Her name means 'Hailstorm' and my sister named her such. The name is fitting, her manner somewhat cold and aloof and it also matches her color. She is the sister of Eowyn's mare. They were both sired by my Uncle's horse a couple of years before the war. Eowyn ..."

When he trailed off, she curiously turned her attention to him. His expression, blank, his eyes gazing at the wooden walls of the stable, his thoughts not in this time. She cocked her head, trying to meet his gaze. "You miss her."

"Aye."

His voice was so soft, she barely heard him. His tone was one she did not expect from such a man. "She is not lost. She is still your sister and she still loves you. Just because she is now a woman a Gondor ... it does not change."

"I know," he responded, sadly then forced a smile. "It was silly, I suppose. But I always thought we would be together. That she would marry a man of Rohan and be near. I, of course, would never marry. Being Third Marshall, I never would have the chance and I would not want to hold a woman, not knowing if I'd return to her. But now with my Uncle and Cousin dead ... and I am King. My sister married a prince of Gondor and I find my advisors taking every moment to tell me to find a Queen." He finally met her gaze. "Can I not care for my people first?"

"As sovereign, you are expected to," Lothiriel answered, simply. "But as a man, you should also care for your own needs and wants. Think not of finding a Queen as a task but as a welcomed reprieve. I saw what that companionship did for my parents. How much they loved each other and how easy governing was when he had my mother at his side. She helped him with decisions, encouraged him to follow his heart. She ... she was good to him."

She sniffed, blinking furiously in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "And when she was gone, I saw what that did to him. How lonely he was and how much he missed her." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. You must think me mad, speaking so."

"No," he interrupted her before she could flee. She was endeared all the more to him, the way she shifted her weight, her nerves more pronounced then that of a young foal. "You are right." He reached out then, hooking a finger under her chin to raise her eyes to his. His breath caught high in his throat. _Bema, so beautiful_.

Lothiriel licked her lips, her stomach churning uncontrollably. Why did he look at her so? What was it about his eyes? Those stark, beaming eyes and his lips. _Oh Valar, those lips._

"You are wise beyond your years, My Lady," he said, softly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "But I know your parents had an arranged marriage, and love came afterwards. I wish to marry for love from the beginning. I will love her for her intelligence and for her wit. Her wisdom and her beauty. I will love her for her loyalty and her honesty. And because she loves Rohan and horses. I will love her because she loves me for who I am, not what I am."

She swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze from his. Her eyes widened slightly when he leaned closer to her and she inhaled sharply. She could feel his warm moist breath on her lips and she yearned for him to close that final distance. His scent was unmistakable, a mingling of warrior, horse, and man. He was intoxicating. What had come over her?

"Lothiriel," he breathed, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you know where I would find her?"

She could not breathe. She could not think. Her body swirled and tumbled with unrecognizable sensations. She had never felt such before in his presence. What was so different now? What had he done to her?

Eomer slowly licked his lips, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. A small whimper slipped past her lips and he smiled, his eyes searching her, memorizing every feature. "Bema, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She wanted to cry at his words. Her heart felt about to burst from her chest. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, tangle her fingers in his hair and pull him to her. She wanted to feel his lips on her own, feel the kiss he could offer. Would his kiss be soft and chaste or would he explode with passion, claiming her in every way? She could hear his heart beating, thumping vigorously in his chest, or was that her own heart.

"Your Majesty?"

Eomer sighed, his eyes closed as he pulled back from her and he swallowed hard to control himself. "I am here, Gamling." He answered.

Lothiriel ducked her head, averting her eyes from the approaching man as she watched Hæglfaru stomp at the hay in her stall. The mare watched her with knowing eyes and if Lothiriel didn't know better, she'd swear the horse was smirking at her.

"Sire," Gamling called again and he smiled as he saw Eomer.

Lothiriel didn't hear what they said, only noticed how suddenly cold it was now that Eomer had stepped away from her. Her mind could not figure out the emotions in her heart, the sensations that enveloped her. What had happened?

Yes, she had lied to her father. The moment she saw Eomer, she thought he was an attractive man but had thought nothing of it. Now, she could not rid him from her mind. His eyes, his lips ... everything. So roguishly handsome and yet still something boyishly endearing. Was it the way his lips quirked when he smiled? Or was it the way that he looked at her, a look that sent gooshflesh rising along her skin.

"My Lady?"

Shaken from her thoughts, Lothiriel looked up again and as expected, her breath caught at the look in Eomer's eyes.

He smiled tenderly, taking her much smaller hands in his. "I fear I must leave you. The council awaits me. You'll have to forgive Gamling, he can be quite insistent."

Only then did she notice that the other man was gone, and she was again alone with him.

Eomer turned her hands over, his roughened thumbs stroking the insides of her palms. "But please do accept my offer. Choose one of these fine mounts and ride. Just outside the gates though. I do not wish for anything to happen of you. I will tell the guards to keep watch for you. I do hope to see you, your father and brother at dinner with me this evening."

"I look forward to it," she responded, breathlessly.

His smile brightened and he bowed.

Lothiriel gasped when he raised her hands to his mouth, pressing a warm soft kiss in the center of each palm. Again, her stomach fluttered, her body surged and his soft moist lips made her skin crawl with delicious anticipation. Oh, what it would be like to kiss those lips.

Eomer indulged himself with one more kiss to the backs of her fingers before nodding his head and then walking from the stables.

She released a breath she did not realize she had been holding. His actions tender yet bold in his familiarity. They hardly knew each other past common conversation and court politeness but still he managed to race her heart. She had to rid her mind of him. Everything was too confusing. She opted to heed the King's advice and go for a nice long ride.

Glancing to the stable door, she froze. An all too familiar figure stood in the doorway, his stance proud and a small smirk on his face. She clenched her teeth at the sight of him yet still held her head high. She had almost forgotten he was in Edoras ... almost.

The young man bowed politely. "Princess." That said, he turned his back and left her.

Lothiriel ground her teeth, turning her attention to Beorg, the gelding. Yes, perhaps a ride would be most beneficial.

* * *

Eomer smiled softly to himself as he walked slowly through the corridors of his home. He knew he should be rushing to the council meeting, but his mind was far from matters of state. Instead, his thoughts swirled around the great beauty of Dol Amroth and her captivating eyes, her sweet mouth, her smooth skin.

He sighed, contently. He knew his actions had been bold, even more so than he would have liked. Though he was a man known for his conquests and his ability to charm anyone of the female sex, he had never been so obvious. But he could not risk losing her. He had loved her since they first met at Aragorn's wedding to Arwen, the Evenstar.

He couldn't help but smile at the memory of their meeting. How polite and proper she greeted him yet he could see such depth in the beauty of her eyes. Nay, this indeed was no typical Gondorian woman.

He could never tear his eyes away, so captivated he was. His sister had laughed and called him a love sick fool. But so be it. Faramir was just as bad. Why was it acceptable for a poetic ranger of Gondor and not for a great warrior of Rohan?

His heart had nearly stopped when Eowyn said that Imrahil, his eldest son and youngest daughter would be traveling to Edoras for his Uncle's funeral. Though a time of mourning, his body surged with the thought of her so near.

But now, with such terrible news from Gondor, she would be returning with her father and he'd never see her again. He had to do something, say something so that hopefully she would know his heart.

His smile grew more ridiculous as he continued to walk and he knew that if anyone were to see him, they'd think he was mad. But he cared not. Meandering through the corridor, he heard two familiar voices: Imrahil and his eldest son, Elphir.

"I don't care. I still think Lothiriel should come with us. Her place is with us."

"Elphir, I know how protective you are of Lothy but please try to understand. With this unknown force, we know not who or where is safe. But this I know, she will be safe in Edoras. Eomer would see that she is safe. He would do anything to ensure it."

"And that is what worries me, Father. I know she is your daughter and you do not wish to see these things. But I have seen the way he leers at her, licks his lips as a rabid wolf stalking his prey. I would not leave her in such savage company."

"Elphir, hold your tongue! We are guests in his house and no matter your personal feelings you will not speak of another realm's sovereign in such a manner."

"You may be blind to his intentions. But I am not. If you will not permit Lothy to come with us, then permit me to stay behind."

"You know I cannot do that. As a Captain of my Swan Knights, you know I need you to lead them. In Minas Tirith, I will be acting ruling and that means that I will not be able to lead them, if necessary. I do not know how many men Aragorn is planning to take to search for his wife. I need the Knights to defend the city. I need you with me."

Silence

"Please, Elphir, understand. Lothiriel will be fine. She can take care of herself. She's a grown woman and though I know your love for her is deep, I need you to trust my judgment. And I do know that Eomer is interested in my daughter, but I also believe that his intentions are honorable. He is an honorable man, my son."

"And I suppose you have not heard what his men say of him. A man of conquests. Would you have him conquest your daughter for political means?"

"Elphir!"

"Do not try to tell me you do not know, Father. Do not try to convince me that you are not worried about this."

"I know of his reputation, Elphir, but I trust him as a man of honor and as a man who fought by my side and as a close friend. I trust him to respect my daughter. And I will expect you to do the same."

"If his hand even grazes hers in the wrong way, I will draw my sword."

"And I would plead with you not to act so rash. The moment you draw your sword against their king, the Rohirrim will shoot you down. And what would I do without my eldest son? As much as it pains me to see, Lothy is a woman now. I know she is beautiful. And I know that because of her beauty, men ... will look."

Silence

"There is more in Eomer's eyes then just desire, Elphir. That is why I mentioned him to Lothy. I think he is a good man."

"He is no different than any other man who has laid their eyes upon her. I will not have my sister gawked at, paraded about as a mare on display for this stallion to take as his own, as he sees fit."

"Elphir ... please."

"No, Father."

"No, you listen Elphir! I am your father and your Lord. You will do as I command. I command you to be courteous to Eomer King. I do not know what has happened to earn you such hostility, but I will not have it. You will be polite and proper and we will leave tomorrow at first light to Minas Tirith. And Lothy will stay here under Eomer's protection. Is that understood?"

A long pause followed. "Yes, Father."

Eomer turned his back, his teeth clenched as he stormed the opposite way down the corridor.

(So ends this chapter. Sorry it took me so long, but I've been super busy. I promise more chapters are coming. Thanks for all the reviews, it means a great deal. And yes, I know that I have Aragorn and Arwen speaking an ancient Elf Tongue, but I was using that chapter as an exercise with learning that tongue. Forgive me, if I did not state that. I love reviews, good, bad, matters not, I like to know what everyone thinks. Remember, the more reviews, the faster I can write. Heh ... blackmail, yes I know. I hope this long chapter makes some peeps happy. And next chappie: BACK TO OUR FAVORITE RANGER FROM THE NORTH!)


	8. Wicked Dreams

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

It was night.

The waning moon hovered over the forest canopy in the distance, a gentle breeze caressing the golden plains. Rolling hills seemed to breathe. Crickets sang their eloquent songs to the night as fireflies flickered like lanterns across the land. The faint sound of a crackling fire and the voices of men could be heard, but Aragorn stood too far away from the camp to make out their words.

Yet despite the peacefulness of his surroundings, Aragorn felt none. His heart had yet to still since Arwen's cryptic message and his dreams haunted him nightly. It had been a week since she had visited him, a week since she was taken.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Aragorn shook his head, keeping his gaze averted.

Legolas stepped forward, standing next to his friend. "We will find her."

Aragorn shook his head, his voice low and panged. "And the longer we tarry, the less is that chance. It has been a week, my friend."

"I know," the elf responded. "But do not underestimate Arwen's will to live. And try to think strategically. Would it be wise for them to harm her in any way?"

"That does not ease my heart."

"It was not meant to."

Aragorn remained silent, his jaw clenched as new possibilities raced through his mind. Would her captors beat her, mock and taunt her, or worse. The final possibility brought tears to his eyes and the King of Gondor had to shake his head to rid his mind of so horrendous an act.

"I am sure they do not do that."

A small smiled pulled at Aragorn's lips. "It seems wherever I go, there are always elves in my head."

Legolas smiled in return, his eyes now dancing with mirth. "This is true, though you have never complained of it before."

Aragorn slowly nodded. "Since we pledged ourselves to each other ... since we fell in love ..." he trailed off, his thoughts gathering. "For all those years when I traveled the forest, at least once every three days, I would dream of her. Arwen would come to me and I'd have the most comforting beautiful dream."

Legolas waited patiently, knowing his friend would continue.

"At first I wasn't sure if they were just dreams or something more, but I'm only now starting to think they were something more. Even after we were together, and at peace and sleeping in our marriage bed, still she would come to my dreams. It was as if she chose my dreams in which to reside when she was in sleep. The last time I saw her in my dreams was one week ago. Why do I not dream of her? Why does she not come to me? What has happened?"

"I am afraid I have no answers for you, my friend."

Aragorn sighed.

"Come," Legolas coaxed. "We ride at dawn. You should sleep the few hours until then. And before you sleep, you will eat this piece of bread."

Chuckling, Aragorn took the offered bread. "Thank you."

Legolas guided his friend back to the camp and into the King's tent. When the flaps closed behind his friend, the elf only shook his head. "We will find her, my friend. We will."

* * *

_Dark_

_Dark ... no. A lantern ... two. A bed, fairly large, the lanterns sitting on the bedstands to either side. No fire ... a dresser at the far corner. Stone ... walls and floor. Small bowls and a goblet sat on the dresser. Why?_

_The bed. It was not empty. A body ... a figure. Slender ... delicate ... fair. A woman. There was black. The pillow. Her hair. Yes, her hair was dark and her pointed ears ... pointed. Pointed ears?_

_Arwen_

_She lay still, unmoving. What was wrong? Was she asleep? No, that couldn't be it. Her skin too pale, her body weak. Call her. Yes, call to her. She will know that she is not alone._

_No voice_

_Wait, there were others present. Who were they? Voices ... two distinct._

"_Her body reacts differently to every dose. And I think I know why."_

"_Tell me. We have wasted days already."_

"_She is with child."_

_Silence_

"_Her body reacts differently because of the growing child. She is slowly building up immunity to the herbs, but we must be careful not to give her too many, lest we wish her dead."_

"_She will live."_

"_Aye, my Lord, she will. But what shall we do? We did not expect her to be pregnant. This ruins the plans."_

"_It does not ruin, but merely delays. And Aragorn's seed will not be that which is named heir to the thrown of Gondor. With child you say?"_

"_Aye."_

"_Then see to it that she is not."_

_One figure moved from the room, the other stalked closer to the bed, to the sleeping elf._

_No_

_The figure stalked closer still, placing a thin skeletal hand on the brow of the sleeping elf maiden._

_Darkness no more._

Aragorn awoke, sitting up, his body drenched in a cold sweat. His breath raced, his body sore and tense. "Such a vision ..." he trailed off, raising a hand to his brow and he closed his eyes as he ran that hand down his weary face. " ... with child?"

He shook his head, trying to steady his thoughts, willing himself not to become excited with the newest dream ... or vision. "'Tis a curse this gift. May it be only a dream."

But his words did little to quench his fears.

* * *

_Darkness. Cold. Stillness._

_A woolen blanket of hazy fog settled. Tall pillars of black. No, not pillars but trees. Trees surrounding a glade, or was it simply a forest. The ground cold and damp, rugged as the roots of trees entangled and snaked together._

_As radiant as the sun stood she, hair of woven golden thread and skin of alabaster pearls. Her eyes turbulent and thunderous, a storm cloud rumbling within. Yet cold; she was ever so cold. Unemotional and unmoving, as a granite statue she stood._

_The gentlest breeze caressed her brow, her hair billowing about, random strands flittering across her face. Yet she did not move them. Eowyn. Sweet Eowyn._

_Another shadow._

_A fleeting shadow approached her, curling itself around her. Solidified, the shadow stood tall, the broad shoulders of a man's form. His hair dark and hanging straight, slightly mangled and greased. Was he a warrior? Was that why he was so unkempt?_

_Perhaps. He wore a darkened cloak, the color of deep green evergreens and he waved a hand slowly before her eyes._

_She stared into the distance, her eyes locked on an unseen point. Sorrow-filled and panged, she turned her face from him with greatest control and ease._

_He reached out though and turned her eyes back to him. Words uttered, though undistinguished and her eyes fiercely flamed. Again, she looked back to that unseen point._

_Her stoned façade crumbled, her resolve diminished. "I'm sorry," she murmured._

_That hand of his reached out and turned her face back to him, closing the final distance, he kissed her mouth._

Faramir awoke, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Looking frantically about, his breathing slowly returned to normal, his muscles still shuddering. He wished to breathe her name, but words would not come to him.

Swallowing, he resisted the rise of bile and sat up. Who was that man that Eowyn so easily chose? What man ...

Faramir clenched his jaw. What sort of man wore an evergreen cloak, his hair dark and strangled? What other man but a warrior or ... ranger?

"Lord Faramir!"

The flap to his tent burst open, a man in the armor of Gondor peeking inside. Faramir held his head high. "Captain."

"Lord Faramir," The guard bowed his head quickly. "The scouting patrol has spotted a small orc encampment to the North."

"The King?"

"Is already informed."

Faramir nodded. "We ride."

(Wow, I know it's been so long since I've updated. But I've been so busy and still am. But I have also, not given up on this story. I know the story and simply need to find the time to write it. Hopefully I'll have another chapter for you up as soon as possible. Trust me, the tension will mount to UNBEARABLE heights.)


	9. Treason

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin

Summery: Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

Imrahil sighed, shaking his head at the loud clamor or men's voices. He was tired of the discussion, the argument that had ensued by the new king's spontaneous behavior. Whether warranted or not, he understood the worry and terror at the thought of Aragorn's reckless actions. But as a man who had loved his wife wholly, he could not blame any man for acting upon the torrential emotions caused by having her taken.

"I do not understand why this is even a discussion," one noble man said, his face stern. "Elessar is our king. If he is in need of his troops, who are we to deny them. They answer to their king, not his council. I say we send the men he wants. What would happen if we did not? Do we want to see our new king fall?"

Loud mummers erupted at that thought and it was a few moments before another voice spoke up. "Even if you do not accept Aragorn, we cannot deny the troops for the sake of our Steward. I know there are many here who would prefer Faramir rule, as the Stewards have for many years. But our Steward follows Aragorn. If your allegiance is to Faramir, then your allegiance is with Aragorn as well. We cannot deny the safety of our Steward as well."

Imrahil nodded. "This is my point. There should be no argument. According to this letter from our king, they are moving along the eastern borders of Rohan. This means that Rohan is threatened as well. We cannot deny protection to the country responsible for our survival during The Great Siege."

"Rohan's pledge holds no power here. Ceremonial responses were expected after trade agreements were opened. It is Gondor rebuilding itself and Rohan. Gondor owes Rohan nothing."

A loud bang resounded as an older noble slammed his hand on the table. His expression one of anger and horror, and from the reaction of his fellow men, this man was not one to be easily infuriated. "If not for Rohan, there would be no Gondor."

Silence followed for a moment.

"And if not for Aragorn, there would be no Middle Earth." Imrahil stated. As the silence continued, he sighed. "This discussions existence is treasonous upon all our heads. Our allegiance lies with Aragorn and his Queen. To Gondor. I know Aragorn. He will take no other Queen if the worst happens. Would you prefer the future to be heirless? Would you throw away all the Valar have gifted us? We have no quarrel with the elves now and before their departure, they left with us their greatest of treasures. The Queen is wise and knowledgeable of many things of which we can only dream. And if you do not trust her elven heritage, think of her as a woman. What men of honor and valor would we be to allow this treachery to happen within our kingdom? What sign does that send our enemies?"

"Aye, the Prince is right. There are still many enemies in our lands. We cannot appear divided, no matter our personal beliefs. We must answer our king."

"And if there are many enemies, then we cannot spare the men to leave the city. Perhaps this is exactly the plan that enemy wants. To empty the city of soldiers so they may walk within these walls without opposition."

Imrahil sighed and bowed his head into his hand.

* * *

Eowyn stood upon the high city wall in the garden of the House of Healing. She gazed across the field, her eyes upon the waters of the Anduin, her heart extended further still. She knew of the letter Imrahil received from Aragorn. She knew of the trials ahead and of the deliberations in council. She knew her love rode alongside his king as she was forced to stay behind, behind the stone walls of the White City.

But these walls were not a horrid prison for her. A soft smile pulled at her lips despite the grimness of the hour. She reached out, her delicate fingers stroking the top of the damp stone wall. She remembered the time she spent in this place, a place she once viewed as a cage. She remembered the wave of warmth that washed over her as Faramir draped that deep blue cloak upon her shoulders with the most tender of smiles on his face.

The days that followed brought her happiness, though she refused to acknowledge it then. And that wonderful day when he approached her, worried about her sadness. He had said he loved her. Her heart still swelled at that memory and she filled with a great tenderness at the memory of fear in her beloved's eyes. Yet behind that fear was such passion, such truth that she could not deny him. He loved her the way she desired to be loved; he offered himself wholly to her.

He had kissed her that day, standing upon the high wall, overlooking the Pelannor. He kissed her where anyone could see. He kissed her with such love and abandon and she knew then that she could love no other man. How could she not return his love, a love he gave so freely, so willingly.

"Lady Eowyn?"

She jumped at the voice, startled as she turned quickly with wide eyes. A part of her was relieved to see only a soldier, a man dressed in battered armor, another part of her was angry at herself for not hearing his approach. "Yes," she answered him, attempting to sound as calm as possible. "Yes, what is it?"

"This is from my Lord Faramir," he said softly, extending a crinkled envelope to her. "He wrote it in secret and bade me give it to you, without anyone knowing. I know not what it contains, but was told to tell no one. I have told no one, my lady."

"Thank you," she replied, her gaze unwavering from the envelope and the curious smudge at the corner. "I would send him a reply. Would I find you in the barracks?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Good. Then do not leave until you see me."

He bowed, courteously before taking his leave.

Eowyn licked her lips, unsure of the nerves rising within her. She had no reason to be nervous and yet, something was not right. Gathering her courage, she opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.

Her stomach turned at the shaky script, his handwriting still easily identified but yet something was amiss. And the smudges and red stains did little to ease her heart.

_My Darling Eowyn,_

_I pray this letter find you well._

"Well," Eowyn scoffed with a shake of the head. "How can I be well when you are so far away, my love?"

_I would ask you to read all I have to say before doing anything rash. And that means do not read ahead to see what I am to say. I would tell you, my Eowyn, that I have wronged you and am eternally sorry._

Eowyn furrowed her brow. What did he have to be sorry for? Unless he ... a cold fury and jealousy swept over her. Was he unfaithful to her?

_I know the first thought to your mind must be my faithfulness and I swear you have no reason to doubt that. No, I have wronged you in another way. I have not lived to the words I have sworn to you._

_  
Do you remember when I told you that I loved you? Upon the high walls in the House of Healing? I told you that were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still would I love you. I have not acted such._

_I should be used to residing secondly within the hearts of those whom I care for. Twas with my father thus and should be no surprise that the same holds true for the woman I married. I do not fault you, my love, for I know you love Aragorn and always will. I know I will never be your ranger from the north, but instead be the weakling second son of a mad Steward of Gondor who was only a ranger because of his father. Who prefers a life of books and scholarship to the hardened clash of swords and battle._

"Oh, Faramir."

_My time away from you on this hunt with Aragorn has allowed me much time to think. And I can now see in Aragorn what I could never give you. I see what he is and who he is and why he is still first in your heart. I realize now what a cruel trick the fate of my life has been. It was not Boromir, my brother, meant to die. I believe it was I._

_Boromir was the strongest, and most beloved by my father and the people and soldiers of Gondor. Boromir was a fearless warrior able to rally men behind him, to fight fearlessly in the face of peril and defeat. And in those cases, he led us to victory. Just as your Aragorn has done._

_You would have loved him, Eowyn, my brother. I believe that were Boromir alive, he would have made you a wonderful husband. He is the warrior that a woman of Rohan would be proud of, the greatest in all of Gondor. His battles were courageous and sung of in songs. He would not have failed Gondor as I had. He would not have fallen before the battle had started. He would have led Gondor to victory. He and Aragorn together with the help of your brother and the forces of Rohan._

_I am inconsequential to the victories of men against the evils of Mordor. Such a cruel joke, so lies our fates. Boromir should have been your husband. He would have made you happy._

_I am sorry I am not the man for whom you would love. And I, in my folly, have discarded the happy moments we have had. I should have strived to give you everything you desired. But that is irrelevant now. Now I shall give you the husband you deserve. I will make you proud of me, my darling Eowyn._

_Today, we founded a small orc scouting party. The battle was hard and we were outnumbered. We were victorious but not without casualties. We lost some of our men and that is why Aragorn sent word back to Gondor for reinforcements. We must move into Rohan. We know where they have taken the Queen, or so we believe._

_But this is not why you will be proud. I assume by now you have noticed my writing is not the same, the shakiness of my hand. I fear that not only our men were casualties of this battle. I had taken a hard shield blow to the chest. I believe my ribs are bruised badly if not cracked. And a single arrow pierced near the top of my armor, around my left shoulder. I managed to hide my wounds, the others too worried of finding a track to follow those who retreated._

_Legolas tracks them now. We will be following shortly. I will continue on with Aragorn. I have wrapped my torso and removed the arrow, but the wound still seeps. That will not stop me. I will not return to the White City again a fallen man. I did that once, and shan't disgrace you or myself._

_I will be that fearless warrior you so desire. I will follow Aragorn into battle again, despite my wounds. And I will hold my head high as I fight, knowing that these wounds will fester and infect, knowing that I will fall in this final stand._

_In our short life together, I could not be the man you loved. Perhaps in a glorious death, I will prove myself worthy of that honor. _

_I love you._

_Faramir_

Eowyn did not react. No. She had to be mistaken. She reread his letter.

Tears pricking at her eyes, she rushed inside at a brisk pace to the rooms she and Faramir had been granted while the Steward's home was under repair. Bursting into the room, she approached the bed and dropped to her knees. Looking under, she spotted her old wooden trunk and grabbed the handle. Pulling hard, she tugged the heavy trunk out from under the bed.

"Stupid ... Ass of a man!" she swore, slamming a fist upon the trunk lid as she scanned the letter again.

Tossing the letter upon the bed, she lifted the heavy trunk lid, the hinges creaking with the effort and she grunted with the strain. Once open she gazed upon the sword, the shield and mail inside the trunk. A helmet, a horse's tail protruding from the top, neatly combed. She reached inside and gripped the handle of her sword.

"I made a promise to him," she said softly, lifting the heavy sword from its resting place. "To never draw you again." She returned her attention to the mail shirt and ran her fingers along the delicate links. Her eyes hardened as she grabbed the mail shirt and tore it from the trunk.

* * *

Imrahil rolled his eyes, slouching heavily in his chair. How could it be possible that this discussion still continued?

"We can send as many men as needed. The Prince's Swan Knights can protect the city."

"Aye, but the Prince's Knights do not know the lay out of the city. If something were to happen, they may be lost. Mayhaps the Knights should go."

Groaning, Imrahil ducked his head into his hands. This could not get any worse.

A loud crash interrupted the council meeting and all jumped, turning their heads towards the council room door. A few gasps resounded as the men scrambled to their feet. Imrahil looked up.

"Where are they?"

"Eowyn?" he asked, standing. "Eowyn, what are you ..." he trailed off as he noticed her attire. She appeared dressed for battle, though not wearing the colors of Gondor, but the colors of her former Rohan.

"You have all heard me," she stated defiantly as she approached the table and looked down upon the giant map that covered the council table. "Where are they?"

"Lady Eowyn," one advisor said, his voice faltering unsurely. "We are in council. And why are you dressed so inappropriately. My Lady, forgive me but ..."

"I am not dressed inappropriately," she snapped. "when I intend to ride out to battle. Now where are they? From my husband's letter, I assume they were here." She pointed to a position on the map. "And I then assume that 'by entering Rohan' that means they are moving this way." She traced her assumed path. She paused. "Why are you in council anyway? Should someone not be organizing the troops requested?"

"My ... my Lady, we are still debating about ..."

"Debating about sending troops?" Eowyn's brow rose in surprise. "Are you all mad? Would you have them die? Such folly! Do you think that troops are requested for splendor? Nay, they are requested because they are needed."

"No troops will leave this city, my lady, without the council's approval."

Eowyn straightened, her eyes narrowed as she gazed at the men before her. "I see. I see Gondor holds no loyalty to her own. I see Gondor's council full of mindless clattering hens who no nothing of the physicality of brute war and who respect no order but would rather perch atop their nests clucking over insignificancies. Perhaps I was wrong to believe that Gondor held firm devotion and loyalty to the safety of its people."

On noble slammed his hand upon the table. "Gondor is a powerful nation, my lady, with many concerns other than this expedition. Troops are needed here for protection in this time of uncertainty. The council has every right to withhold troops for the safety of its people. Your accusations are treasonous!"

"As are your actions!" she yelled back then paused as she met the eyes of the one challenging her. A cold fury consumed her. "I was proud to be a shieldmaiden of Rohan. I was proud to call Rohan home. I cannot say I feel the same about Gondor." She turned towards the door.

"My Lady, wait!"

Eowyn stopped and glanced over her shoulder. It was the boy who delivered Faramir's letter. He ran to her.

"My Lady," a smile on his face, he stopped before her and bowed low. "My Lady, though I am only a soldier of no rank, it would be my honor to follow you into battle."

She softened at the boy's words and only then upon seeing the awe and loyalty in his eyes did she nod. "Aye. You know if the worst is to happen and yet we live, they may charge us both with treason and you with desertion upon our return."

"Aye, my lady," he responded. "I follow you still."

"What is your name?"

"Hordil, my lady." He answered and bowed again. "And I know my brother would be more than willing to come as well. He is in the barracks."

Eowyn nodded. "So be it then. Since Gondor does not answer her King, we will ride to Edoras. My brother will heed Aragorn's call."

(I would like to personally thank everyone for reviewing and reading this fic. I'm overwhelmed by the astounding feedback and all the hits I've received. I hope you are all enjoying it and I expect to have the next chapter out soon. Please review and tell me what you think. I love hearing from everyone, and often it helps motivate me to write ). What will happen now when Eowyn reaches Edoras with her – hopefully – two escorts?)


	10. Wounded

Title: Taken

Author: Crimson Coin Aragorn yearns for the life he has left behind. But his desires are fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Rating: PG13. R in later chapters

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters within. They are from the mind of Tolkien and are borrowed.

Archiving: Ask first, please.

* * *

Eomer stood from his desk, stretching his arms up to ease the tension in his back and shoulders. He still wasn't used to being a king and sitting caged inside, forced to bend over a wooden desk and stacks of papers. He easily cramped, his head pounding with all the considerations that must be made within the kingdom.

Continuing with his daily ritual, he walked to the long window and gazed out at his beloved plains. A soft smile pulled at his lips at the sight of the familiar outdoors. The fresh scent of horse, hay, and bread filled his lungs mixed with a crispness that foretold of the coming season.

Narrowing his eyes, he focused on a distant figure. His smile softened still as he recognized the princess riding one of his horses. She had been favoring Hæglfaru, the white mare, for some days. He wasn't sure why the guards watched her closely, or why even now, many others seemed to watch as well.

His mind fathomed one reason they would watch her so. But a fierce possessiveness and jealousy that had no right to be there filled him. The thought of her in a romantic involvement with one of his men infuriated him. But who was he to feel that way?

Searching for her again, he squinted, wishing to watch her more closely. Ah, so that was why she was attracting a crowd. Any man would be foolish not to watch her, but today she rode that obstinate mare barebacked. He had no idea she could ride that way.

Even from afar, she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. Her hair whipping wildly in the wind, her tightened body gracefully moving with her horse. It was as if she were born to ride, as if she were a woman of Rohan.

Why again was he cooped up inside when he could be riding along the plains with her?

* * *

Lothiriel smiled brightly as she squeezed her legs a little tighter, urging the horse beneath her to gallop even faster. Oh, the freedom to be able to run. For the longest time, her father had been weary of letting her run free, afraid of all the evil men and monsters. But here, in Rohan atop so magnificent a horse, Hæglfaru ran.

She could feel a thin sheen of sweat on the horse, her mane wet and Lothiriel knew she had run the mare well. She deserved a good brushing when they returned to the stables.

"Hail, Princess!"

Lothiriel slowed Hæglfaru, turning towards the voice and her smile softened at the sight of the young King of the Mark riding her way. "Hail, Eomer-King."

Eomer laughed as he slowed Firefoot and with pristine grace, dismounted. "It has been long since I've seen a woman ride bareback. My sister has on occasion as I've heard the Queen Arwen still does. But not from a lady of Gondor."

She cocked a brow, dismounting as well. "Obviously, my Lord, you have mistaken the capabilities of the women in Gondor."

His smile grew as she played his game. He gave Firefoot a firm pat before walking away from his horse, allowing the stallion to graze as he pleased. "I don't believe I have mistaken them. I doubt every lady of the Gondorian Court can ride as you have just done."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But then again, I am not as every lady of the Gondorian Court."

"Indeed, my Dear, you are not," he answered deeply and his heart rate quickened when she flushed a pale pink. Or was she already flushed from the thrill of her ride?

Lothiriel quickly averted her eyes back to Edoras. "I expected you would still be in chambers, my lord, if not with advisors then at least bent over your desk. Do you often find time for an afternoon ride?"

"No," he said. "But I have missed the ride, and often I find any excuse to give Firefoot his reins and simply let him run." He sighed heavily, overwhelmed by her. The wind blew from the east and as she faced Edoras and that eastern wind; he willed his desire to remain controlled. Oh, how beautiful she was.

"Then tell me, Eomer King, how come now you see fit to stand here while your horse grazes over yonder?" Her chin raised defiantly, her eyes a challenge.

Eomer smiled softly, restraining to say the words in his heart. Instead he gazed out to the snowy hills in the distance. "Because, my princess, often I find something so breathtaking, I must stop to gaze upon it." He turned his head slightly, his eyes locking upon her. "I fear it has happened yet again."

Lothiriel's eyes widened, a slight gasp slipping from her lips as her eyes met his.

His eyes tender yet passionate, he took a step closer to her. "Forgive me, my lady, but I seem to be entranced."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. "My Lord, you flatter me so ..." she trailed off, ducking her head.

He swallowed hard, his heart racing as he looked upon her. Was this the opportunity he'd been waiting for? "I fear, Lothiriel, I do not flatter you enough."

She licked her lips, her eyes still averted as her stomach dropped. She shivered when he reached out, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her gaze to meet his. "Eomer."

He leaned closer, one hand gripping her waist, resting near her hip. "Lothy."

Lothiriel licked her lips, his bold familiarity startling her and yet she did not object. She reached up, placing her hand on his arm, her fingers tightening slightly.

He smiled in response, warm and tender as he leaned closer still. "Lothy, I … I have dreamt every night since we met of kissing you."

She smiled softly. "You remember when we met?"

"Aye," he sighed. "You were a healer in Minas Tirith. I was wounded in the battle upon the fields. You were treating another rider from Rohan and I knew that I would be next. But that old crotchety man cared for me instead." His eyes narrowed, a playful pout on his face.

"Really?"

"Mm hmm," he answered with a nod. "I wanted you to heal my wounds."

She cocked her head, her eyes locked on his. "And what did you think when you first saw me?"

It was Eomer's turn to flush and he cleared his throat. "I thought you were beautiful and any other thoughts would be improper to disclose to a lady."

Lothiriel laughed, her eyes bright as she gazed at him. "Improper? Was it not improper to have them?"

He smiled softly. "No. But when I discovered you were indeed a lady, it would have been improper to act upon them. I will admit to you, though, the temptation was ever so strong."

"I remember you well, Horse-master," she said. "I remember how you looked at me, your eyes locked. I remember that saucy grin spread across your face and I remember the way your eyes scanned my body as if inspecting every inch. I ... Eomer?" Confused, she tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking into the distance, behind her, his eyes narrowed.

Unwavering, his eyes focused upon the forest's edge in the short distance.

"Eomer? What is it?" She looked back over her shoulder. There was nothing, at least nothing she could see. A faint glimmer of light and then nothing. Another faint glimmer of light ...

"Lothiriel," he called, tugging her forcefully as he pulled her behind him, standing in front of her. He emitted a loud cry, a few Rohirric words resounding. A whizzing blow and then a thud. Eomer jostled in front of her.

She cowered at the cry, pressed close to his back and when he jostled, she placed her hands on him to steady him. "Eomer?"

He didn't respond to her, but wobbled slightly on his feet.

"Eomer," she tugged on his arm, turning him to face her and her eyes widened.

Embedded deep in the area between chest and shoulder was an arrow. "Lothy ... run ..." he collapsed to his knees.

She did not obey but instead wrapped her arms around him, supporting him best she could as his weight gave way. "I'm not leaving you." She guided him to the ground then looked back to the forest's edge. The gates to Edoras were already open, a loud horn calling as guards raced out onto the field.

"Lothy ..." he pushed gently at her hands, keeping her away. "Go ... run ..."

The arrow lodged deep, his shirt already changing a brilliant shade of crimson around the arrow's stem and she quickly began untying his shirt.

A thin sheen of sweat upon his brow, his body beginning to glisten, he shook his head. "Lothiriel ... please ... leave me ..."

"I can't," she said quickly as she tore the shirt, allowing her to remove it without aggravating his injury. He was a beautiful man, hardened tanned muscles with a few scars, but this was not the time to observe him. She shook any desire from her mind, her hands finding the point of the arrow's entry.

He moaned, mumbling something incoherent then closed his eyes.

She sensed the signs immediately. The arrow must have had a poisoned tip. Inspecting the wound carefully, the arrow had to have a smooth head. Placing a steadying hand upon his shoulder, she gripped the arrow and pulled it from his body.

He cried out in pain as it tore from him and he forced his eyes open to see her staring closely at the arrow's tip and then bring it to her nose. She inhaled. He did not understand the mumbled words that escaped her, but a strange chill raced down his spine.

He shuddered, a severe twitch coursing through his body as the darkness slowly engulfed the edges of his vision. "Lothy ..." he licked his lips, as his vision darkened. "Lothy, I ..."

His strength left him and he succumbed to the blackness.

* * *

A fierce bright light penetrated the darkness and he shifted uncomfortably, grimacing at the assault.

"It is about time you roused, brother-mine."

Eomer winced, shifting his weight and only then did he notice the softness beneath him, the thin covers draped across his waist. He was stripped of all but a pair of soft linen breeches and as he forced open his eyes, he saw the familiar canopy sealing of his bed.

"I had thought you stronger than to be bed-ridden for two days from only a single arrow to the shoulder. Tsk tsk, brother, you are spoiled now that you are king."

He sighed, blinking slowly as his vision adjusted. "Eowyn?"

She laughed. "Of course. Who else would have the gall to speak to the King of Rohan in such a manner?"

He closed his eyes, a soft smile upon his face. "Gamling, for one and I'm sure some of my captains. Do not forget your husband, and no doubt, Aragorn. Perhaps even Gandalf ..."

"I see. I see," she interrupted him. "The list would go on. Now come, Eomer, open your eyes. Look at me." She placed a cool hand upon his arm.

He licked his dry and chapped lips, letting his head fall to the side, his eyes attempting to focus on her. "Eowyn ... I do not like when your hands are chilled." He said, softly. "It reminds me of when the worm was here ... and you were so ill." He weakly reached across his chest, placing his much larger hand over hers.

Eowyn smiled. "I am glad you are finally well. Many were worried. Lothiriel ..."

His eyes widened. "Lothy ..." he struggled to sit up. "The princess ... where ..."

She chuckled. "Calm yourself, Eomer. Your princess is fine. She has not left your side for two days. It was only a few hours ago I sent her back to her room. She needed to sleep."

"She was with me?" His brow rose with disbelief. "I ... I would not expect her to."

She nodded, her gaze soft. "And yet she stayed with you. But I fear, my brother, that I am not here because of your injury, though it came at a strangely coincidental time. Aragorn tracks Arwen into Rohan. Gondor is resisting his need for aid and Faramir ..." she averted her eyes. "Faramir needs my ... our help."

Eomer quickly shook his head, forcing himself to sit up. "Nay, sister, you are not doing what I know you are thinking. And don't look at me like that. I will lead the Rohirrim out. Where are they? I received some strange messages from the Eastern Borders a few days ago. Strange activity, I believe was the message. It must be there."

Eowyn placed her hand upon his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed. "You are in no condition to lead any army against anything. The arrow you took was tipped with poison. You are weakened. Actually, if not for Lothiriel, you may have been dead."

"Dead?"

"Aye," she answered with a stern gaze. "She recognized the scent. And when you fell into unconsciousness, your guards came upon you both and she was sucking the poison from your wound. It was a dangerous treatment she sought for the poison could have easily entered her as well. But the healers here say that if she had not, you would not be here now."

Eomer exhaled, a pensive expression on his face as he sank back into his bed. He slowly turned his gaze upon his left shoulder. The bandage tied tight but still the slightest glimpse of dried brown fluid showed. The wound must still be seeping. "It is not my sword arm." He said, coldly. "I can still fight."

"You will barely be able to stand from that bed," Eowyn scoffed. "Nay, you are in no condition to spar against your young seasoned warriors, much less face whatever foes cross our path."

His bedroom door quietly opened.

"I know what you will say, Eowyn," Lothiriel said softly, her eyes focused upon the tray she carried, ensuring the contents did not fall. "I could not sleep and I have no intention to. Plus, I have need to change his ... Eomer?"

His eyes softened, his smile tender as he looked upon the young princess of Dol Amroth. Her dress was simple and plain, most likely comfortable. It reminded him of what Eowyn would wear when she practiced her swordplay. "Hello, Lothiriel."

Eowyn couldn't help but smile at her brother's reaction. Perhaps someone was a little smitten with this tanned sassy princess from the south. "I will leave you to clean his wounds. And Lothiriel, no matter how sad his expression, do not let him rise from this bed."

Lothiriel smiled as Eowyn softly closed the door behind her, leaving her brother and the princess alone.

"Change my bandage quickly, Lothy, for I must be ready to ride when the eord leaves."

She raised a single brow at him. "Ride? I am afraid, my lord, you will ride no where. For that poison was lethal. I doubt you could sit up against your headboard, much less sit up in a saddle."

"Sassy ... woman ..." he snarled, his teeth clenched as he braced his hands on the mattress. He forced himself into a sitting position, his elbows shaking with the strain. Sweat beaded upon his brow and his wound seeped new fluid, the bandage wet again.

"Eomer!" She gasped, running to his side. "Eomer, stop! You will open the wound again." When he did not listen, she placed her hands upon his shoulders and pushed hard. The force knocked him off his balance and his arms gave way; his back hit the mattress.

His eyes hardened as they met her gaze. "How dare you! I was fine."

"Fine?" She responded, her eyes furious. "Fine! Do you know how much you were bleeding for me to see such in that bandage?" When he moved again, she pressed her hands onto his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed. "Move again ... and I will tie you where you lay."

Eomer ceased his struggles, a sly grin upon his face as he met her gaze. "Is that a promise, princess?"

Lothiriel rolled her eyes, a snort of disgust escaping her. "Men. Now lie still while I see to your wound."

He made no further protest as her brow furrowed, her eyes focused on the wound. He watched her carefully as she slowly unwrapped the bandage and he licked his lips as he saw her wince at his exposed wound. He angled his head, trying to look. "What is it?"

She slowly shook her head, her fingers touching gently at the swollen tissue. "Nothing. Tis not infected but it still does not look good. How does it feel?"

"Honestly, since you have been here, I have not noticed."

She froze at those words, refusing to meet his eyes. She knew his eyes all too well. How they would cloud like a stormy afternoon, whirling with emotion and unspoken truths. No, she could not look at him.

"Lothiriel, why do you not look in my eyes?"

The honest answer upon the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back and instead, leaned a little closer to him, closely inspecting the wound. "Because, my lord, there is no sense me looking into your eyes when the wound is on your shoulder."

He smiled, reaching out and he hooked a gentle finger under her chin, lifting her head. "And what if I prefer your eyes elsewhere."

She shook away his hand, returning her attention to his wound. She still had yet to meet his eyes. "What you prefer is not an option this moment. It is what needs to be done." She exhaled heavily, reaching for the bowl of warm water and herbs and a cloth. "This will sting. Previously, you were not conscious when I did this."

His eyes widened when she pressed that cloth to his wound and he couldn't stop the hiss from slipping passed his lips. He clenched his teeth, his body tensing as she cleaned his wound, ensuring no infection would come.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wincing in sympathy. Quickly she placed the cloth down and then reached for a small leather pouch. "These herbs will draw any more poison from you." She explained, pushing some of the crumbled yellowish green herbs into his wound. "Roll onto your side a little. I have to wrap your shoulder again."

Eomer obeyed her, his eyes never leaving her as she carefully wrapped his shoulder, her movements expert. She had had much experience wrapping wounds. He wondered how much she had seen as a healer. "When you were in Minas Tirith, did you do all the tasks of a healer?"

"I was not only fetching bandages and hot water, if that is what you mean." She responded coolly and she quickly stood to fiddle with the supplies on his bedstand.

He rolled onto his back again, his eyes focused upon her. "I have heard what they say you have done for me. Risking your own life to save my own."

"It was nothing," she quickly dismissed his comments. "It was only what any healer would do were they in my position."

His brow furrowed as the recent events scrolled through his mind. He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm. She jerked from his touch and a slight pang ached in his heart. But he would not let that discourage him. "Lothy, how did you know? How did you know to react the way you did?"

"I have seen much, my lord," she responded, exasperated and her eyes met his. "I have seen sights that few other soldiers of war have seen, much less noble women of Gondor. So if you believed I was a prim and proper princess of Gondor who has seen no worse than a pricked finger from needle-working, you are severely mistaken."

Eomer clenched his teeth a part of him searing at the thought that she had witnessed such horrific aftermaths of war. And yet a part of him seemed to swell with a sense of pride for how strong must this woman be to endure such a test. Though she could hold the air of a princess and noblewoman, there was something quite harsh and real about her as well.

His eyes wandered to the door at the far end and he saw Eowyn standing against the frame, a serious expression upon her face. "And tell me, Brother, do you make it a habit of insulting our guests?" Her eyes focused upon the princess. "Lothiriel, perhaps you should give him some of that tea to relax him."

"I need not to relax" Eomer stated defiantly, struggling to sit up. "I must ready my eord. I must be ready to ride out ... to battle."

"You will ride no where, Brother, lest you rest first."

"I need to organize ..."

"Your marshals are capable enough of that task," Eowyn interrupted him. "Now cease this chatter. Lothiriel, give him the tea."

Eomer looked towards the young princess, noting her chilled grim expression. She seemed guarded as she handed him the mug of hot tea and herbs and confusion furrowed his brow when the young dark haired beauty looked towards his sister before returning her attention to the bandages on his bed-side table.

He slowly raised the cup to his lips and let the hot liquid pool into his mouth. Steadily, he drank every bit and then tipped back as he finished the last of the tea. He handed the cup back to Lothiriel, which she took without a glance at him.

Eomer turned his eyes towards his sister and then his brow furrowed. His mind grew slightly hazy, his head and muscles heavy. "Eowyn?"

"Relax," Eowyn said softly. "You must heal."

He glanced frantically around the room as a sleepy haze surrounded him. He looked towards Lothiriel, but the young princess would not meet his eyes. "Lothy ... Lothy ..." he reached for her, his fingers brushing her arm.

Lothiriel reluctantly met his eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I am sorry, my lord."

He struggled to keep his eyes open, his breath increasing in panic. "No ... what ... what have you done ..." He fell back onto the bed, his eyes finally closed as the sleep took him.

Eowyn approached her brother slowly then stopped at his bedside, reaching out to smooth the hair from his face. "This was for the best, you know. Even the other healers agreed that this should be done to ease him."

"But it was by my hand."

Eowyn looked up, shocked at the young Princess's harsh tone. Her eyes chilled as she regarded the other woman. "Perhaps. But if not sedated, he would have followed us, even if his body had not the strength. This is the only way to let him heal."

Lothiriel didn't respond but clenched her teeth and left the room, unwilling to let Eowyn see the glistening tears in her eyes.

* * *

Eomer's eyes slowly opened, his head a whirl and hazy fog. As his breathing regulated, his eyes focused. He had no other reaction at first as he lay still upon his bed, staring at the canopy ceiling of his bed.

His thoughts could not focus and he found himself lost, unsure of what had happened. He remembered seeing Eowyn standing over his bed, smiling and pleased that he had awakened. And then the most beautiful creature walked into his bedroom. Lothiriel. A soft smile pulled at his lips at the thought of the dark beauty.

He remembered her checking his wound, the sensation of her soft fingertips grazing over his bare chest and the intoxicating scent of rose petals that flooded him whenever she was near. Then she had mixed some tea to ...

His eyes widened. The tea.

"I know you must be tired of seeing me," Lothiriel said to the proud white mare.

Hæglfaru tossed her head then stomped the ground, her mane flying wildly about her.

The Princess smiled. "I knew you enjoyed my company. And I brought something for you as well." She slowly stepped into the stall and reached between the folds of her skirt, presenting two carrots to the beautiful beast.

The mare's eyes sparkled as they focused upon the treat. She snorted, one hoof stomping the ground.

Lothiriel laughed, closing the distance between them as she outstretched her hand, offering the carrots. "He is still not awake."

The horse chewed on the carrots, her ears turning then twitching at the melodic voice that spoke to her.

"It has been a day already. And I know you are sick of hearing this story." She sighed. Hæglfaru must have sensed the young princess's plight and nuzzled her. Lothiriel smiled. "Yes, I care for you too. I only hope that after what I've done, the King will still let me take you."

The door to the stable swung open and the loud crash made Lothiriel jump. She quickly peeked over the side of Hæglfaru's stall and glanced to that door. Eomer leaned heavily against the door, his weight balanced upon the handle as he caught his breath. His body sagged, weakened from the days in bed and immobile.

"Eomer!" Lothiriel rushed out of the horse's stall then to Eomer but she thought better of approaching him and stopped a few steps away. "Eomer, what are you doing?"

Eomer glanced up, his eyes sagged as his teeth clenched. "Treasonous ... Wench!"

She recoiled, stung by his harsh tongue though she deserved any assault he would give.

His eyes moved passed her as he focused upon Firefoot. With a whistle and a string of Rohirric words, the big stallion kicked at the gate then trotted up to his master. Firefoot tossed his head then snorted as Eomer released his grip upon the door to instead hold the back of the large stallion.

"Eo ... My Lord," Lothiriel stepped a little closer to him but then thought better of it and eased back. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"To my eord," he growled then glared at her. "I trusted you ... not only as my healer. But as something so much more ..." He clenched his teeth as he pulled himself up onto Firefoot's back.

"You aren't wearing any armor. Where is your sword?" She rushed to Firefoot's side, her hand daring to rest upon his leg. "Eomer, please. Do not do this."

He shook his head, almost mad in his drive. "You betrayed me, my lady. I open my home to you, my country ..." his voice grew soft as he met her eyes. "My heart."

She bit her lip, every desire to scream that though it was her hand, the action was guided by Eowyn and by his advisers. But no, she could not say that. "Eomer, please. You cannot ..."

"I can!" he growled. He pulled the dagger from his boot then kicked Firefoot, racing out into the night. The guards scrambled to open the gates.

Lothiriel swore in a colorful tongue and lifted her skirt to run back to Hæglfaru's stall. "We must ride swiftly, my love." She said, softly, to the beast. The horse tossed her head as Lothiriel grabbed a small knife from the corner then flung herself upon the white mare's back. "Come, my dear. We must go quickly."

Hæglfaru let forth a snort than reared back a moment before bursting out the stable doors and falling in Eomer's path.

( Wow, it has been some time, but school and work keeps me so busy. I will finish this story, but I ask for patience. Thank you to all my reviewers and readers. I love knowing what you think, bad or good.)


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